


Lucid Dreamer

by theoneandonlyzoom



Series: Dreamwalker [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Hate Sex, Hypnotism, Implied Past Child Abuse, Kylo Ren is a dangerous man, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resistance Hux, Self-Hatred, Self-induced dissociative identity disorder?, Unhealthy Relationships, and Armitage Hux is playing a dangerous game, begins pre-TFA, spans TFA and TLJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-03-03 10:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 109,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13339734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlyzoom/pseuds/theoneandonlyzoom
Summary: Armitage Hux is one of the youngest and most distinguished Generals of the First Order. His military acumen and political perspicacity have paved the way for his lofty aspirations, but it’s really his design ofStarkillerbase that propelled him through the ranks. General Hux, it seems, was always destined for greatness.It’s therefore really too bad nobody realizes he’s a spy for the Resistance, a feat he's only been able to accomplish through a complicated form of self-hypnotism taught to him and initiated by a certain Jedi-in-hiding over a decade ago.Although, Kylo Ren is dangerously close to finally cluing in on that little secret…





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you’re probably wondering how Hux came to work for the Resistance in the first place and how he could pull off any level of subterfuge with Ren hanging around his throat like a noose, but have no fear. I’ll be explaining all of that in the first few chapters. 
> 
> Let’s begin, shall we...
> 
> Edit: For those of you who messaged me, yes, Luke is also included in this story. :)

_“You never know. Maybe when we’re dreaming we’re more lucid than when we are awake.”_

― Katherine Angela Yeboah

~***~

 

If there’s a Maker, he has no love for Jakku.

It’s a miserable planet with barely enough water to sustain life. Hot, dry, and barren, it’s hard to imagine anyone could thrive there, although its remoteness is part of what appeals most to the smugglers and scavengers who call it home.

The planet was once an unfortunate war zone between the old Empire and the Rebellion and is therefore littered with the husks of old Star Destroyers. But death is a birth of sorts, he imagines, and in the wake of the destruction that once set Jakku’s atmosphere ablaze sprang the idea that someone could find a purpose there, however ludicrous that purpose might be.

However, when Kylo Ren informs him that Jakku is their next destination, Hux struggles to find the rationality in his request. Several sources on the whereabouts of Luke Skywalker have already proven to be false, and Hux has better things to do than scour the universe for the hermitic shaman of a dying religion, least of all on such a godforsaken planet.

But Lord Ren, as always, cannot be made to see reason.

“Jakku is far from our present course,” Hux reiterates once again, referring to their current route to the _Starkiller_ base. Now that its construction is nearly complete, Hux has orders to put it to the test. “I can’t justify a detour on nothing more than a hunch.”

 _“This isn’t a hunch,”_ is Ren’s brusque response. It’s difficult to pick out certain inflections of his voice through the vocoder in his mask, but Hux has worked with him long enough by now to recognize the warning signs of his rising ire. In fact, Hux fancies he can almost taste the ozone in the air, the pull of power so unique to Ren’s peculiar…physiology.

But Armitage Hux is a General of the First Order and Kylo Ren’s co-commander, and will _not_ be cowed by his volatile attitude, at least so long as the Supreme Leader feels compelled to protect him from it. And so he presses: “Precisely _what_ do you expect to find on Jakku?”

_“Lor San Tekka.”_

Hux takes a moment to process that name as an unusual pressure builds up across the bridge of his nose and behind his eyes. It feels a little as though he’s getting a cold, although he knows well enough by now that this isn’t the case.

“I’m surprised he’s still alive,” Hux mutters, trying to sound dismissive in a way that highlights a most legitimate concern, that being that Jakku was hardly the kindest place for a man of Tekka’s age, both in terms of its environment and its current inhabitants.

 _“What is the Resistance if not tenacious?”_ Ren replies coolly, meaning ‘tenacious’ like a pest. His disdain for his mother’s collection of misfits was almost as fanatical as that of any officer aboard this ship. “ _The Supreme Leader wants the location of Luke Skywalker. Don’t fight me on this.”_

Hux can feel that subtle pressure building again, a sign that Ren is trying to force his will without _actually_ crossing the imaginary line between them. Hux knows Snoke warned the man against playing mind games with him in the past, but Ren is so very fond of testing his limits. In fact, one could argue it’s the greatest flaw in their working relationship, this distinct lack of any semblance of trust or respect between them.

Hux tries not to sneer at the underhanded gesture. “The Supreme Leader will decide whether or not your intel is worthy of our attention.” His gaze slides to the door behind his co-commander, a blatant dismissal from his office. “I’m scheduled to speak with him at 0800 hours. That should give us ample time to correct our course, _if_ he deems such a thing necessary.”

Ren doesn’t move immediately. Just hovers like an oppressive rain cloud in front of him. _Looming_ , somehow, even though Hux isn’t sitting at his desk.

Hux has noticed that these weighty silences have become more of the norm as of late. Ren was always one for brooding, but he can never seem to allow any interaction between them to come to a natural end anymore. He must always engage in some form of posturing; of intimidation.

Hux grows weary of his antics

“Is there something else?” he asks sharply.

Ren loosens his hands at his sides and slowly curls them back into fists, thinking. Finally, he says, _“Why must you refuse me?”_

“It’s a waste of fuel,” he replies

 _“A waste of…fuel?”_ Ren’s voice, mechanical as it is, is somehow softened with disbelief.

Hux has nothing else to offer him. The First Order is not yet prepared to make itself known to the greater universe, and so stopping to refuel anywhere other than _Starkiller_ , at least in this system, would be an unnecessary risk.

Plain and simple.

“That’s all I have for you, Ren.” Hux steals another glance at the door. He’s at the end of his shift and almost dead on his feet, but he can’t retire to his quarters with his co-commander still hovering in his office. They are not to ignore one another, regardless of their mutual aversion, and so Hux must suffer his company until Ren tires of him in return. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Ren unclenches and clenches his hands again before he pivots sharply on his heel and storms out into the hallway. Like a dark spectre, he disappears immediately around the first corner to the left, the edge of his cap licking viciously at the air in his wake.

Hux smooths down the front of his uniform with one hand. He half expects Ren to whip back around to confront him again, but it appears as though he’s through with pestering Hux for the time being. No doubt the man will find a reason vex him at the start of his next shift, but that’s a battle for another day.

Whatever tomorrow brings, Hux takes the opportunity to appreciate this rare moment of solitude as he makes his way down the hall to his berth. There’s a heaviness in his limbs that does not bode well for his overall health, but he ignores it as he removes his uniform and hangs it up in the closet before shuffling into his refresher. The sonic shower has him feeling marginally better, but lethargy still hangs off his shoulders like an invisible weight. So, he dims the lights down to 5% and sits down heavily on his mattress, head spinning, trying to find a comfortable position before he lies back...

And thus, it begins anew.

It isn’t until he’s completely horizontal that he remembers this is the trigger, the act of reclining, only cognizant of what’s happening once the ball is finally set in motion. Almost immediately, buried memories come to the forefront of his mind and his consciousness is set adrift, like a ship lost at sea, rolling with the waves, marveling at how the heavens above could darken and splinter with such unholy grace.

And then suddenly she reaches out to steady his transition.

For the past standard year, she’s been keeping close track of his schedule, making sure to take the time to meditate in anticipation of his arrival. It makes for a quick and seamless connection between them, affording Hux the ability to return to his duties promptly if he’s unexpectedly needed back on the bridge.

As always, she waits for him to collect his thoughts before she smiles softly and says, “General Hux.”

He opens his mind’s eye to find himself in a familiar parlor, an environment conjured by her imagination. As per usual, he nods his head at her in respect and takes up a seat next to her on the chaise lounge beside the balcony. Outside, the sky is a rosy pink, the sun low on the horizon. A bird chips merrily in the distance.

“General Organa,” he greets in return.

“You seem tense,” she says, but she’s had to say that often as of late. He’s been tense ever since he realized the construction of _Starkiller_ was ahead of schedule, despite his best efforts to the contrary. “Does Snoke still plan on targeting the Hosnian system?”

“Yes,” is his unfortunate answer. He knows she’s been working around the clock to devise a way of secretly evacuating people from the small ring of planets, and that she’s convinced a number of them to leave already, but Hux doesn’t know how successful she’ll be in the long run without tipping Snoke off. People talk, after all. Someone’s bound to notice a vacant planet, and then it’ll only be a matter of time before that information trickles down to the First Order.

And then Snoke will inevitably find another system to annihilate.

“I take it you don’t have anything good to tell me,” she sighs.

“I’m afraid not.” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He hates having to be the bearer of bad news. “Is Lor San Tekka on Jakku?”

Organa looks mildly alarmed by his question, but she hides it well under the habitual upward tilt of her chin, the usual indication that she’s trying to keep her emotions in check. “Who told you that?”

“Your son, although I don’t know how he came across that information. He barged into my office at the end of my shift and demanded that I reroute the _Finalizer_ to Jakku.”

Horror finally drains the color from her face. “And did you?”

“No,” he replies with some small measure of relief. He lucked out somehow on that count. “We would need to refuel for that kind of trip. I told him I wanted to discuss the matter with Snoke first…If you send someone now, you might be able to reach Tekka before we do.”

“I think I know just the pilot,” she murmurs.

Hux is almost positive she’s referring to Dameron.

“Don’t scoff.”

“I’m not.”

“Someday you’ll meet him,” she says, reaching over to take one of his hands in her own. Her skin feels deceptively warm to the touch. “Then I think you’ll agree. He’s a good man.”

“He already has quite the reputation in the First Order. He’s cocky.” Hux loses focus momentarily, old propaganda ringing faintly in his ears. It’s hard, sometimes, to separate his true self from the conscious monster wreaking havoc in the universe. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

Organa is silent for a long moment. She squeezes his hand.

It’s moments like these when he almost forgets they’re not physically occupying this sacred space.

“We all die someday,” she says softly. He detects a hint of fatigue in her voice, like she’s grown weary of fighting the good fight for so long. “Have you given any thought on how you want to go out?”

He has, but he knows the choice won’t really be up to him whenever that day comes.

“Let’s not lose ourselves to such morbid thoughts.” Gently, he extracts his hand from hers. Their time together, as always, is short; he can’t afford to be in this state for long, lest Ren rebel against his master’s wishes and pry precisely where Hux doesn’t want him. “I really must be going now.”

She nods. “Thank you for the warning, General.”

He rises from his seat, knowing in some small way that there’s another question perched on the tip of her tongue. Sometimes, she asks it outright; other times, she doesn’t have the stomach.

He saves her the grief of having to ask aloud and says, “He’s no better or worse than before. Stronger, perhaps, but there’s certainly been no improvement in his temper.”

“I wish I could see him,” she murmurs softly.

“You really don’t,” he replies before he can bite his tongue.

The solemn look she shares with him implies she’s already of the same mind, that she knows she would only be disappointed with Ben’s slow but methodical transformation. Where once, perhaps, there had been a quiet and loving child, there now stands a splenetic and spiteful demon of the First Order.

She would hardly recognize him.

“Take care,” she says faintly, gradually closing off the connection between them until both she and the parlor melt away into the dull, dark grey of the ceiling above his bed.

He lies there in the dark for a while, thinking…He’s so rarely himself these days. It’s with increasing difficulty that he puts his rational mind back on the shelf each night of his self-imposed imprisonment here. In fact, he doesn’t know if it’s technically correct to call ‘this’ self his _true_ self anymore. Operating in such close proximity to not one, but _two_ Force-sensitive individuals has pushed him to the absolute limit of his sanity…

He really shouldn’t be stalling like this, but just the thought of flipping the proverbial switch brings with it the noisome sense of anxiety, sitting heavily in his chest like a lead weight. He tries to combat the sensation by rising and ducking into the refresher to grab a glass of cold water from the small sink in there. He sips at it for a minute, collecting himself, and then begrudgingly returns to bed.

Once he’s steeled himself, he takes a deep breath and begins humming a melancholy tune, the one General Organa taught him the first time they met almost a decade ago. It’s the key to locking himself back up once he’s done all that he can do, another mystical trigger in his mind that folds his rational thoughts neatly together in a little box for safe-keeping, somewhere neither Snoke nor Kylo Ren can find them.

And where his ‘other’ self can’t find them either.

Not until the next time he lies back and allows his mind to drift. It’s all for the greater good, of course, and he knows that, which is why he tries to ignore the vice that coils around his stomach as he lets it all go. Gradually, he becomes just ‘the General’ once more, pion of the Supreme Leader and eternal enemy of the Resistance, his feverish belief in totalitarian order burning away any lingering residues of his true self from his conscious mind, none the wiser to his own traitorous intentions.

Slowly then, sleep takes him, whisking him away into the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you've enjoyed the intro.


	2. The wandering man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The vast majority of this chapter is a flashback, hence the unexpected change from present tense to past tense. I don't usually write flashbacks, but it was a necessity in this case.
> 
> Please, enjoy!

_“I once was lost but now I'm found.”_

― John Newton

~***~

Three days shy of his twenty-fourth birthday, Armitage Hux was the only member of his small crew to survive the crash landing on the surface of an uncharted planet.

By some miracle, the atmosphere was both oxygenated enough and the appropriate pressure required for the vitality of his species, although Hux wasn’t in the best position to appreciate that fact as their transporter plummeted dizzily toward the earth. He broke three ribs, fractured the ulna in his left forearm, and concussed himself so violently during the downward spiral that he was out cold before they hit the ground. By all rights, he should’ve burned to death in the wreckage with his fellow officers.

But fate, apparently, had other plans for him.

The first time he woke from his coma was only for a moment. The planet was heavily vegetated, and thus he could only see a hazy cut of the darkening sky through the thick canopy of branches overhead. He was lying on his back, his left arm tightly bound to a soft board, his body weighed down by a thick blanket. He was feverish and cold and couldn’t even remember his name. The pain pulled him under again just as he realized someone was dragging him along the ground on a makeshift stretcher.

He drifted in and out of consciousness several times the first two days following the crash, waking mostly at the insistence of his savior, who poured water and broth and some ungodly concoction down his throat. When the fever’s hold over his brain finally broke, he woke once and for all in a small hut, having been stripped down, cleaned, and redressed, his splintered arm bound tightly against his body. His legs were similarly tied down to the cot to keep him on his back. In the corner of his eye, he could see his rucksack propped up against the wall beside the door, possibly the only other thing salvaged from the wreckage besides himself.

Hux tried to sit up, but his vision swam. The pressure inside his head was so immense, he had to fight the urge to vomit.

“You fractured your skull,” said a dark figure on the other side of the room, taking a log from the small stack in the corner and droping it into the fire pit between them. The light flared up briefly. Hux couldn’t look directly at it. “You shouldn’t move.”

“Where am I?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“The middle of nowhere,” his companion murmured, grabbing the flask at his hip and unscrewing the lid as he approached. He tilted it gently against Hux’s lips. “Do you remember what happened?”

He sipped slowly, mouth chilled by the water. When he’d had his fill, he said, “We were falling, burning…Did anyone else make it?”

“They were all dead by the time I reached you.”

“One of the engines exploded…”

“I gathered.”

Hux couldn’t begrudge the man for his wit, so he closed his eyes and tried to think. There had been some kind of a malfunction…Hux could only remember the shrill cry of the overhead alarm before he was jolted out of his seat, having been in the process of doing up his strap when everything went to hell. The last thing he recalled seeing was Lieutenant Valson’s face twisted in horror, washed red under the emergency light.

“Why did you save me?” he croaked, throat constricting under the weight of his emotions. “Don’t you know who I work for?”

“Your father,” the stranger replied cryptically, something like understanding shining in his eyes. “And I don’t imagine you enjoy that very much.”

Tears blurred Hux’s vision, but he had nothing else to say.

He let the pain pull him under once more.

Why the man continued to assist him was beyond Hux, but the novelty of having someone else care for his needs kept him from asking too many questions. It was, of course, somewhat demoralizing to require another person’s help, but Hux was still at that tender age where he would’ve gratefully accepted even the smallest sign of affection from his father, if such a thing existed, even after all the abuse Hux endured as a child. To receive it freely from a stranger seemed like a divine gift.

And somehow the stranger knew this. He never said as much, but it was his polite silence that implied he was well aware of Hux’s unspoken gratitude.

Although, in hindsight, he wasn’t really talkative at all. When Hux asked him what he was doing on this godforsaken planet, he simply said he was looking for an artifact. Some ancient tome. His name was Luke and he came here alone. He liked to fish in his spare time. He had a nephew who was almost Hux’s age.

“Do you have any children of your own?” Hux asked one evening. He was sitting upright, finally, sipping broth from a bowl. He tried to walk earlier in the day, but as soon as he made it out the door, he could barely breathe through the ache in his ribs. His attempt at a little exercise had been swiftly thwarted.

“I guess you could say I have many,” Luke replied, smiling in his small way at the fire. Now that Hux was conscious, Luke would leave during the day to hunt or meditate in the doorway. Hux fancied he was half-mad.

“Are you a teacher?” Hux asked, wondering if this was some kind of riddle.

“Of sorts.”

“Then where are your students?”

“Right where I left them.”

Hux sipped his broth and tried not to judge.

Despite himself, he was beginning to like this lunatic.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked for what felt like the umpteenth time. “Or don’t you know who I really work for?”

“Why _shouldn’t_ I help you?” Luke queried in return. “And, yes, I’m well aware of the First Order. Despite its best efforts to remain in the dark, I think enough people know by now it’s up to no good.”

“Then you’re aware of what I represent?”

Luke smiled, blue eyes glittering in the firelight. “Of course. But I’m not going to punish a boy for his father’s mistakes.”

Hux shifted uncomfortably on his cot, uncrossing his legs to fold them back over the other way. His left foot had fallen asleep and his head still throbbed painfully behind his eyes.

They way Luke spoke of his father, Hux was beginning to wonder if the man somehow knew him.

“Not personally,” Luke replied, as though plucking Hux’s thoughts from thin air. For a moment, Hux wondered if he’d been thinking aloud all this time. But Luke laughed. “I thought you would’ve figured it out already.”

Hux blinked in confused. “Figured what out?”

“That I’m reading your mind.”

Hux began to laugh weakly, but Luke’s beatific smile killed it somewhere in his throat.

He was being serious.

Hux knew about Force-users—the Supreme Leader was one, after all, but Hux had never met one face to face before. He knew that the Jedi were long dead and that the Sith were always lingering somewhere in the shadows, one always at the ready to cut down any other. It was therefore difficult to hide the way his hand trembled as he brought the bowl to his lips for another sip, wondering if Luke’s madness was born of benevolence or something worse.

“I’m not a Sith,” Luke replied, face softening with a touch of pity. “And the Jedi are far from dead, despite what your ‘Supreme Leader’ would like you to think.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hux murmured, bringing the bowl back down to his lap. “You know I’m a member of his organization.”

“Only because you were born into it,” Luke chuckled, poking at the fire with his short wooden staff. “The reason I’m telling you this is because I want to do something for you, something that requires a little trust.”

“What would that be?”

Satisfied with the fire, Luke raised his staff and pointed vaguely at Hux’s head with it. “I want to heal those scars.”

Hux couldn’t help but snort at the cliché. “Good luck.”

“It would be well worth your time, I assure you.”

“And why would _you_ need permission to rummage around inside my head? By your own word, you’ve already been at it.”

“Because I wouldn’t be doing the heavy lifting this time.”

Hux squinted at him curiously.

Then he finished off his broth and tucked himself in for the night.

~***~

He buckled two days later.

He was in the process of shaving for the first time since the crash, his small pocket mirror lying flat on his pillow as he ran his razor against his cheek. He washed himself regularly, of course, but there was something that felt so terribly revitalizing in finally undertaking a task that required a little more dexterity. His left arm was still on the mend and the skin over his tender ribs was just one large mottled bruise, but he was able to walk outside for a while that morning and the sun had felt so good against his face.

He was beginning to feel more like a man again.

But as he was shaving, he remembered the first time he’d done so as a young man, having to guess along the way, not even aware that he needed to use cream. A friend eventually showed him the trick, but only after Hux’s father screamed at him over the small scar on the corner of his lip.

Hux wiped the excess cream off his face with the small cloth from his rucksack and stared at his pale reflection for a moment. As a member of the First Order, he wasn’t supposed to feel any emotion beyond the prescribed comradeship for his fellow officers or the all-consuming loathing for anyone who opposed their organization.

But today, he distinctly felt quite sad.

Usually, Hux would turn to his work to clear his mind, but he had nothing with which to distract himself now. His sorrow felt like a lead weight inside his stomach. It got him wondering what his father must be thinking of him, if he believed that Hux was dead. Knowing his old man, Brendol Hux would probably be relieved to finally be rid of him.

In the evening, Hux quietly asked, “How would you do it?”

Luke hung a pot of vegetables and water over the fire, gave it a quick stir, and then sat down beside Hux on the cot. “We would go down inside your mind together and listen to what it has to tell us. That’s all.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s never easy,” Luke murmured softly. Then he instructed Hux to lie back and try to clear his mind.

Hux spent less than a minute in meditation before he realized he was somewhere else. It was the white room, the one with the chair and nothing else. His father would lock him up in there sometimes without explaining why, although even as a small boy Hux understood that this was both a form of punishment and examination.

He was hungry. And afraid. He couldn’t remember the precise reason he was here today, but there was really no telling what could’ve set his father off this time. Perhaps Hux wasn’t fast enough during a field test, or his aim was off on the range, or he’d asked a question that Brendol Hux either found too offensive or stupid. All Hux could be certain of was that it was so unbearably cold under that blinding light, the one hanging directly overhead, which always cast the longest, blackest shadows he’d seen in all his short life.

At once, the door opened. It was his father.

In his hand was a razor.

Hux rose to his feet, stunned from further action by how quickly his father closed the distance between them. Brendol wrapped a hand around his throat before he could cry out, spun him sharply around, and pinned Hux’s back against his chest. With his other hand, Brendol slipped the razor between his lips, pressing the blunt end of the blade down against his tongue.

Hux snapped his mouth shut against it, pinning the blade between his teeth. He whimpered, but otherwise tried not to move. He had no desire to discover what kind of damage a razor could do in this position.

His father’s breath was hot against the shell of his right ear. “You _will not_ fail me again,” he hissed. “ _Do you understand_?”

Hux’s vision blurred with tears. As carefully as he could, he nodded.

Then he woke.

Chest heaving, covered in sweat, he rolled over onto his side and proceeded to empty the sparse contents of his stomach onto the dirt floor.

Embarrassed, he refused to let Luke help him clean it up. Instead, the man stood in silence beside the fire, stirring the pot, watching him work. He waited until Hux was settled on the cot again before he said, “In your true memory, he used a different knife.”

Hux swallowed. Then he nodded.

His father had used a letter opener.

His stomach clenched at the memory. He was almost sick again, but he swallowed down the bile that rose in the back of his throat. It wasn’t his worst encounter with his father, but it was certainly one he thought he’d put behind him already. If Brendol ever tried to slip a knife between his son’s lips again, Hux would kill him.

Hux grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, hands trembling, feeling so utterly exposed. “How is this supposed to help?” he asked.

“A little at a time,” Luke replied, still stirring.

Hux found that hard to believe.

~***~

But he persisted.

It was one of his strong suits, and perhaps the only reason he survived childhood. Brendol Hux was a volatile man, and the blows he dealt Hux had only softened as his son grew into adulthood due mostly in part to Brendol’s waning strength with old age. If they fought now, both men knew Hux could easily overpower him.

Hux continued to follow Luke into the proverbial darkness each and every evening, showing him the worst of his father’s offences, unable to hide anything from his newfound guide and mentor. Their many journeys together left him feeling hollow and cold inside, as though his father were carving out a piece of him all over again. But after a while, he began to fear these visages less and less. In his own mind, he gradually became a passive participant, watching without truly feeling. It helped that he could always sense Luke lingering somewhere in the background, showing Hux what little power his father truly had in this seemingly sacred place, because while it was certainly true that Hux lived through these horrors, they were a thing of the past. Only Hux could decide what influence these incidents had over his future.

He took to mediating during the day to shake the vestiges of his father from his mind, although never with Luke. He would sit behind the small hut with his back against the wall and think of a peaceful body of water. He let his anxiety drift away with the ripples on the surface, replacing the darkness of his mind with the dappled light from the sun.

He began exercising too, first walking and then jogging, mindful of his ribs. It was a small blessing that his ulna fractured instead of breaking outright, meaning he only had to keep it immobilized for it to mend properly. Then he began flexing his hand, lifting small objects, and letting his arm swing down beside him as he walked. Eventually, Luke suggested that he should take up swimming in the small lake nearby, a low impact activity that would help build up his strength.

He’d taken to doing just that in the early afternoons, wading water near the shallow end of the shore as Luke sat on a large boulder that arched over the lake and fished. His host was a curiously peaceful man, features relaxed as he sat in the light, soaking up the warmth. Hux wondered why he couldn’t have met him earlier in life, why he’d been sacked with a man like Brendol Hux as a father instead.

Then something occurred to him.

Swimming over to the boulder, he looked up at Luke and asked, “What’s your surname?”

“Hm?” Luke hummed, only partially attentive, keeping an eye on his bait.

“Luke Skywalker was a Jedi,” Hux said quietly, hesitantly, wondering why he hadn’t figured it out earlier.

“That he was.”

“…Is that who you are?”

Luke glanced down at him briefly, then back at the water. He nodded.

Hux felt light-headed for a moment. He’d heard the stories, of course, but there wasn’t anything in his life that hadn’t been tainted by the First Order, including his history lessons of the old Empire. He had no way of knowing what was true.

Until now.

Once Hux was able to muster the courage, he pressed further. “Your father was Darth Vader. How did that make you feel?”

“At first?” Luke said softly. He sighed, like this was a conversation he often had with himself. “I was terrified.” He licked his lip thoughtfully and then tilted his head to one side. “I was initially told my father died by his hand. Turns out that was just a bit of bad poetry.”

“Did you really kill him?”

Luke shook his head. “He died saving me from Darth Sidious. It was his final bid for redemption…I think he earned it.”

Hux tried not to let his surprise show, but it was a hopeless feat in the presence of a mind reader.

As always, Luke looked down at him with nothing less than absolute warmth and understanding. “This is going to sound rather simple, kid, but not all good men are able to keep goodness in their hearts, just as not all evil men are able to keep it out. My father was a good man who simply lost his way…He found his way back just in time to save me.”

Hux swallowed thickly, his mind entertaining a rather futile thought.

Luke must’ve agreed with him. “I’m sorry about your own father, Armitage.”

Hux took a deep breath and swam slowly back to shore. It was cold in the forest, so he rolled over onto the wet sand and let the sun bear down on him, chasing the chill from his bones. He would be happy to die here, he thought, where nobody who hated him could bother him anymore.

For there was no goodness to be found in the shriveled heart of Brendol Hux.

~***~

“Do you want help finding your artifact?” Hux asked, finally feeling up for a long trek. He wanted to offer his assistance to Luke earlier, but with how useless he’d been this last moon cycle, he knew he would only be a burden. His left arm was still weak, but he could run again. Endlessly, it seemed.

Luke rose from his seat just outside the door to their hut and, stretching, said, “I already found it.”

Stone and knife in hand, having been sharpening it for the past hour on his cot, Hux stopped in surprise. “Really? When?”

“The day you landed.”

“What?” was his faint response. He felt like he should be upset, because he’d always felt guilty for supposedly holding Luke back from his journey. Turns out, the old Loon was really just enjoying the scenery. “Then what are we still doing here?”

“Giving you some much needed space,” Luke replied sagely, wandering over to his own cot. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I have friends who can help you acclimatize to your new life, if you think you’d be interested in meeting them.”

Naturally, Luke already knew without asking that Hux dreaded the idea of returning to the First Order now that he was beginning to feel whole again. He didn’t want to go back to that proverbial killing machine, to become just another cog in its malevolent work.

He would much rather die.

“Do you do this for everyone?” he asked quietly. “Drop everything just to piece together the mind of a broken individual?”

Luke shook his head. “I would like to try something like this with my nephew, but he’s too hesitant to let me in…I think he’s ashamed of something.”

“Maybe you should tell him about me,” Hux suggested, tapping his temple with his index finger. “You’ve seen the terrible things I’ve done. Whatever he doesn’t want to show you, it can’t be much worse.”

“Humankind is plagued by irrational fears.” Luke shrugged, as though he were trying to convey the idea that he wasn’t disappointed with his nephew’s apparent animosity. Hux knew him well enough by now to tell this wasn’t the case. “I’ll offer him as much help as he’s willing to take, but it’s his responsibility to accept it, the same way you already have.”

Hux bows his head, grateful, as always, for having been given this opportunity. “I hope it goes well. You must be eager to return to him.”

“He’s currently working through a test with my other students. When they finish, they know how to reach me. Until then…” Luke waves vaguely to the room between them, “I’m going to give him a little of his own much needed space.”

Hux nodded in understanding and rose from his cot. He collected Luke’s satchel and fishing pole and wandered down to the lake. He would catch them something fresh for dinner; maybe give Luke a little of his own ‘much needed space’.

As he climbed out onto Luke’s favorite boulder and dropped the end of his line in the water, it occurred to him that Luke’s ‘friends’ were probably members of the Resistance. Who better to teach Hux how to disappear and start his life anew? And on the flipside of that coin, who better to help them pinpoint the weak spots in the First Order’s strategies than a former First Lieutenant?

Hux was surprisingly okay with this idea. In fact, it downright excited him. There was a spark inside of him now that _wanted_ the Resistance to succeed, to tear down the newborn terrorists marching to his father’s maniacal tune. It was the least he could do to repay his old man for his kindness.

He sat there for a long time, entertaining all the little ways in which he could ruin the First Order, although not indefinitely. He caught a fish sometime during his wild wonderings, though he was hardly conscious of it until he realized he needed a rock with which to stun it. As he tossed its limp form into the satchel, it occurred to him that the First Order would recover from whatever petty tricks he devised. It was a force of nature, a veritable blade with which to slay the Republic, designed by none other than the despicable hand of Supreme Leader Snoke himself.

Something else occurred to him then. Something truly terrible.

Fear gripped him suddenly, coiling like a snake in the pit of his stomach, poised and venomous. He had to put the fishing pole aside for a moment to collect himself, terrified of the decision he knew he needed to make. Because this was the lesson Luke had been trying to teach him all along, wasn’t it? How to wade into the darkness unafraid…

He had to go back.

“You can just run away,” Luke said when he returned. The poor man looked haunted, like he was ruminating over his own fears, the fire casting his face in sharp relief. “There’s no shame in calling it quits.”

“Why?” Hux asked, exhausted. “So I can watch the First Order destroy the universe from afar? I’d rather not.”

“You can’t get close to Snoke with that frame of mind,” Luke retorted. For once, his voice took on a dangerous edge.

This wasn’t a game.

But then, Hux wasn’t playing.

He handed the satchel over to Luke. He’d caught three more fish during his emotional journey, working on autopilot as he pieced together a haphazard plan inside his head. He knew he was clever enough to climb at least a little farther up the ranks, that there were so many secrets about the First Order he had yet to learn. His only issue, as Luke pointed out, was that if Snoke ever took a close look at him, Hux would surely be found out and executed for his treachery.

“Then teach me how to shield my thoughts,” he demanded. “There has to be a way.”

But Luke took the satchel from him and said no more.

This discussion, it appeared, was over.

~***~

Although it really wasn’t.

Luke ignored him the next day. Regretting the unfortunate mood he’d put his mentor in, Hux left him to his peace. He checked the traps he laid out in the forest and then went for a long walk. When he returned in the evening, Luke was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t return until later that night, long after Hux had gone to bed. Hux was startled awake by the sensation of someone sitting down beside him on his cot, something Luke hadn’t done since his injuries had improved and he no longer required constant assistance.

“Relax,” Luke said, his voice a deep rumble in the darkness. “We’re going to try something new.”

“Like what?” Hux asked, sitting up in confusion.

Luke raised his hand slowly to cover Hux’s eyes. Then he pushed him back down. “Lie back, please.”

Baffled, Hux allowed the man to manhandle him. He felt an unusual pressure building just behind his eyes, but it was fleeting. He could barely tell Luke had done anything to his mind at all.

Then Luke got up and retreated to his own cot. Hux rolled over onto his side to watch him settle in for the night, waiting for the punchline.

“If you get up at all tonight, let me know,” Luke said cryptically before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Hux had so many questions.

But they could wait until morning, he supposed.

~***~

Slowly, he began to realize Luke was waiting, ever at the ready, for him to _recline_.

Over the course of the next few days, if Hux so much as _thought_ about lying down, Luke would materialize at his side. Then he would cover Hux’s eyes, press him back, and continue with whatever task he was doing before.

Hux was getting a little fed up with his antics.

“What are you doing?” he asked flatly, sitting down on his cot one evening, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as Luke got up to join him, like a father coming to tuck his son into bed.

“Creating a trigger,” Luke explained.

“A trigger for what?”

“I’ll explain it while you sleep.”

“You mean after I’ve slept?”

A wiry smile. “Sure thing.”

As always, Hux trusted his judgement. He laid back on his cot, as guided by Luke, and then stared up at the ceiling until he was tired enough to fall asleep.

He woke up standing in a parlor.

It was a truly alarming experience. The red wallpaper and the woman sitting at the desk in front of him, her brow creased gently in confusion, were so utterly vivid, he had trouble believing this was a dream at all.

He glanced around himself briefly and realized there was a chaise lounge nearby an open balcony to his left, the sky a rosy pink outside as the sun began its descent on the horizon. Luke was sitting there, thank god, which meant this was all a part of his design.

“Lieutenant Armitage Hux?” the woman inquired, rising from her seat.

Hux spun back around to address her, snapping his heels together more out of habit than anything else. He knew how to greet a lady. “Yes, ma’am?”

She smoothed down her robes as she maneuvered herself around the desk, reaching out to him with her right hand. “I’m General Leia Organa. My brother tells me it’s your sincerest wish to join the Resistance.”

Hux gave her proffered hand a gentle shake and glanced back at his wayward mentor, silently grateful for his support. To General Organa he said, “I would like to offer my services as a spy, if such a thing could be arranged.”

“Spies don’t live long,” she sighed, studying his face. There was a touch of sadness at the corner of her eyes, like this was a hard truth she’d been forced to deliver one time too many. After her cursory evaluation of him, she said, “I have a son, you know. He’s about your age…”

“Then it should come as a relief to you that I’m the one offering my services in his stead.”

The corner of her mouth quirked into a curious smile. She looked past him for a moment at Luke. “I like this one.”

“Me too,” Luke grumbled. “Which is why we need to proceed with caution.”

“You still haven’t explained how you plan on infiltrating the First Order with a former officer.”

“It’s simple,” Luke chuckled, just a hint of tension in his voice. Both Hux and Organa watched him expectantly. “I’m going to show him how to box himself up—his true self, so that he can continue running around like a brainless soldier during the day.”

“Say that again,” Organa said slowly, “but use more words this time, Luke, because that doesn’t sound very simple at all.”

Luke bowed his head respectfully and then gestured to Hux. “Kid, tell me how you would describe yourself in the days leading up to your crash.”

Hux had no trouble at all sharing that information. He’d hated himself, plain and simple. “I was callous and cruel. My greatest drive in life was to outrank my father so that I could finally put him in his place. I was prepared to kill anyone to achieve that goal.”

Organa arched an elegant eyebrow at him, seemingly impressed with his honesty.

Luke nodded. “Good, good… So, I think it goes without saying that if I wiped your memory of _everything_ between now and the crash, you’d become that callous and cruel human being again?”

Hux shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “I…well, I suppose.”

“Sounds horrible, doesn’t it? But that’s what would happen—in fact, it _needs_ to happen if you want to pull off this charade.”

Anxiety gripped Hux’s throat like a vice. He didn’t understand how he survived being such a deplorable human being in the first place. How would his psyche handle it if he allowed his mind fall into a backward slide.

“This is the plan,” Luke continued, leaning forward in his seat, elbows braced against his knees. Politely, he ignored the fact that Hux was trying to choke back his fear. “Armitage is going to return to his duties as a Lieutenant of the First Order. He’s going to continue doing whatever he does best to rise through the ranks and get as close as he possibly can to Snoke. But every night when he lies down in bed, he’ll spring a trigger that will return him to the right frame of mind. You or I, Leia, can then reach out to speak with him, to glean any new information he might have on the Order. At the same time, if we need him to run interference, he can get up and proceed with whatever measures he deems necessary before setting off the second trigger. This one will aid him in tucking his true self back into his deepest subconscious. He will then continue on with his day, none the wiser to our plans.”

“What’s the first trigger?” Organa asked, just as Hux inquired about the second.

“The first trigger is simply the sensation of lying down,” Luke explained, finally cluing Hux in to his odd behavior this past week. “Since his other self won’t be conscious of the switch, it needs to occur some time he would naturally black out, such as when he retires for the night. I haven’t decided what the second trigger will be yet, but it needs to be something the Lieutenant won’t accidentally encounter before he’s ready to switch back.”

“A certain phrase?” Organa offered.

“I don’t know,” Luke sighed, frowning thoughtfully. “I thought about that already, but if its too ludicrous, someone might think he’s speaking in code. Nothing screams traitor quite like erratic behavior.”

“What if I hummed?” Hux asked. “Some of the officers hum or whistle when they think no one is listening. It wouldn’t be all that suspicious.”

Luke nodded in agreement. “That could work…but it would have to be a song no one else knows, otherwise someone might trigger you prematurely.”

“How about a lullaby?” Organa laughed, mischief dancing in her eyes. Hux shot her a look of disdain, but already she began humming, a brief and melancholy tune. It sounded eerily familiar, like something he might’ve heard once as a child.

“No,” Hux said.

“Perfect,” Luke interjected. “Start practicing.”

“I can hardly remember it even now.”

Organa’s lips quirked in the most delightful way as she hummed it again for him.

“We’ll start implanting the trigger when you wake,” Luke continued, rising from his seat. “We’ll give the whole thing a test drive in a couple of days.”

Some internal part of Hux trembled at the realization that this damnable mission had already been set in motion, that he would be returning to a dismal state of being a lot sooner than he anticipated.

He shook his head to dispel the thought and glanced around the room in search of a door. “How exactly do we leave?”

“I initiated the connection,” General Organa supplied, “so it's safest for me to sever it.” She reached out to take his hand again, giving it a comforting squeeze. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“Likewise.” He squeezed it back, quietly marveling at the simple yet intimate gesture.

He’d never experienced anything so innocently compassionate before.

Gradually, she and the room began to fade away, the vivid colors of the room slowly replaced with dark splotches, the back of his eyelids flooding his vision.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. It was still dark outside and Luke was in the process of settling down upon his cot. Hux felt a little light-headed from the journey.

In the morning, he hummed the song with Luke at his side, feeling the tell-tale press of the Force behind his eyes. Luke would remind him over the course of the following days to practice, and so Hux would hum until he was sick of the tune as Luke worked his magic.

And then, one day, he hummed and Luke wasn’t there anymore.

Hux was standing on the boulder, fishing, admiring the way the light danced across the surface of the water. Then suddenly, he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was fishing. He looked down at his hands. They were unnaturally tanned.

He never tanned.

Alarmed, he pulled up the line and dropped the fishing rod on the rock beside him. Then carefully, he turned around.

A man was standing there, just watching him—a blond haired, disgruntled looking fellow wearing brown and white robes.

“Who are you?!” Hux sputtered, afraid.

The man stepped forward and pushed him.

Even before Hux hit the water, he felt like a fool for forgetting who Luke was. When he resurfaced, he brushed the wet hair back from his face and stared up at the old man apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Luke stared at him for a long moment, a little sad.

Then he said, “You’re almost ready.”

~***~

They tried it a few more times after the first incident, going so far as to allow Hux to wander aimlessly once through the woods until he laid down under a hastily made lean-to just after sunset. Any time he wasn’t vertical, he’d snapped back into his old persona; any time he hummed, he would return to his bitter self.

It was a disconcerting experience, but it was a clever trick all the same. The First Order didn’t have a Darth Vader haunting the corridors of every Star Destroyer, but Hux figured it was only a matter of time before Snoke succeeded in enticing other Force-users into his employ. The man wasn’t a Sith, after all. He didn’t need to adhere to the Rule of Two.

After they were certain the mechanism was sound, Luke took him on a three-day journey to the site of another crash. Hux didn’t know who the small ship belonged to, but their skeleton was roughly humanoid and their radio was in working order.

“I don’t know how far I can get a message out with this,” Hux replied, thinking about how he really didn’t want to go just yet.

“They’re close enough,” Luke replied, glancing up at the darkening sky. “If you call them now, they will come.”

Hux swallowed and nodded. “Then what do I tell them when they inquire about my experience here? It’s not as though I can claim not to remember anything.”

“I’ve already given that a little thought,” Luke murmured, reaching into his satchel. Which meant he’d actually given it a lot of thought, as he did with everything. Carefully, he pulled out a thorny flower; its petals were white at the tip, bleeding into a dark red around the pistil.

Luke plucked a leaf off and handed it to Hux. “It’s poisonous. Slow acting. It won’t kill you, but they won’t know that.”

Hesitantly, Hux took the proffered leaf. Before he could chicken out, he popped it into his mouth and proceeded to chew. It tasted bitter. Godawful, in fact.

Wincing at the taste, he hoisted himself up into the cockpit, mindful of the corpse, and tried the engine. Remarkably, it gurgled to life, the lights on the dashboard blinking coyly at him as he reached for the radio switch.

Before he flicked it, he peeked over the lip of cockpit, down at Luke. “Thank you,” he said. “For saving me. Twice.”

“I’ll be in touch, kid,” Luke chuckled, backing away from the ship. Hux’s vision doubled momentarily as he watched him go, melting into the shadows like a figment of his imagination.

The poison was not as slow as Luke advertised. Hux could already feel beads of sweat gathering on his brow as a fever brewed in his core. He flicked the radio switch and clicked out a brief S.O.S. Then he waited.

Almost immediately, someone responded.

Sure enough, a Star Destroyer was in close enough proximity to pick up his call. It was the _Harbinger_ and they wanted to know who the hell he was.

Hux gave them whatever information they demanded, wavering in and out of consciousness until a tremendous light bore down on him from above. Suddenly, there were too many hands pulling him from the cockpit, maneuvering him onto a stretcher before pulling him aboard a transporter. Someone tugged an oxygen mask over his face. Someone else took a sample of his blood, trying to determine why he was nearly insentient. All around him, people were barking confusing information and orders.

Hux woke up much later in the medbay, strapped down and hooked up to every manner of machine. His bed was slightly inclined, enough so that he could eat without choking when a medic eventually came by to check up on him. The woman took his vitals, told him his fever was breaking and that someone would be by shortly to ask him questions about his unfortunate journey.

Hux waited until she was out of the room before he hummed his little tune.

~***~

He was out of commission for three cycles. They ran just about every test they had on him and pumped him full of fluids. He lost close to thirty pounds in the 78 standard days he’d been away and he’d contracted some illness they couldn’t yet identify, but after all the supplements they forced down his throat, he was finally beginning to feel like himself again. X-rays showed that he’d fractured his skull and his left ulna and that he had broken three ribs in the crash. He was lucky he hadn’t suffered anything a little more grievous, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have been able to escape the burning wreckage of his ship.

The amnesia was something of a bother though.

Hux couldn’t recall much beyond the crash itself. He could remember tidbits of fishing and wandering through the forest, but nothing much besides. He thought he saw another man once, but that was likely a hallucination from the fever. Whatever he’d contracted during his last few days down there had burned almost the entire experience from his mind. He was lucky he was still able to think at all.

His father came to see him once after he returned to active duty. Brendol Hux was more or less a retired officer, but Armitage’s perseverance on an unhospitable planet had won him a degree of admiration from his peers and so a small ceremony was to be held to reward him for persisting in such dire straits. It was the kind of inner-organizational publicity that raised morale amongst the other officers, just a way of allowing them to recognize that the First Order did indeed breed the best stock.

“You survived,” were his father’s first words to him after the ceremony, standing just outside the threshold of Hux’s berth. In fact, it was the first thing the man had said to Hux in years.

“My apologies,” Hux replied coolly.

Brendol Hux tilted his head back at the smart remark, like he couldn’t tell whether he was happy or upset with his son’s continued vigor. But since that bit of indecisiveness brought him dangerously close to feeling any emotion beyond disappointment for his son, Brendol left the conversation at that.

Which was fine with Hux, because it allowed him to go on hating the old man like he always had before.

Just like he went on hating everyone else pretty much, working endlessly to grasp one promotion after another, stomping down the competitors and exploiting their weaknesses with almost malicious glee. He killed and he schemed and he executed his orders with a finesse that was almost inhuman, never hesitating to cut down anyone who stood in his way. He was a son of the First Order, born and raised and conditioned to be as deadly a weapon as any he holstered at his hip.

And at night, he despised himself for it.

He hated how easy it was to be completely apathetic in the face of such immense cruelty—just as he is now, standing outside the interrogation room as he listens to Wing Commander Poe Dameron spill his secrets, his voice reaching a most impressive pitch. Ren is in there with him, having been called in after the droids failed to squeeze any relevant information out of their captive. Hux practically felt his co-commander gloating behind his mask as he swept into the room not ten minutes earlier.

Idly, Hux pulls his left glove a little higher up his wrist, irritated with how the nail on his ring finger keeps catching on the inner lining. He’ll have to cut it at the end of his shift.

At long last, the pilot’s agonizing warble dies down and the door slides open. Ren stalks outs into the corridor and pulls up short in front of Hux. _“It’s in a droid,”_ he says. _“A BB Unit.”_

Hux is beyond annoyed with that revelation. He’d hoped the pilot hadn’t found the opportunity to hand the map off to anyone before his capture. All the same, at least they were on the right track to Skywalker. “Well, then…If it’s on Jakku, we’ll soon have it.”

 _“I leave that to you,”_ Ren says brusquely, brushing past him.

Hux adjusts his glove again and glances into the interrogation room. Dameron is still strapped into the chair, eyes closed, head hanging limply to one side. Once he wakes, Hux will send the droids in again, this time to press for information concerning the Resistance’s many boltholes throughout the galaxy. Then, perhaps, he can begin smoking them out of hiding.

Catching an unappealing whiff of sweat and blood, Hux waves his hand over the control panel and shuts the door. Then he smooths down the front of his uniform and proceeds toward the command bridge.

Unfortunately, he only makes it about three paces before he realizes Ren hasn’t ventured very far yet. Hux can feel the long line of tension between his shoulder blades crying out in agony as he stops before the man, watching Ren watching him. He isn’t enjoying this nameless game between them. His co-commander’s quiet observations of him have increased in frequency lately and Hux doesn’t know why.

The corner of his lip tries to twitch its way into a sneer. “Congratulations on your hunch,” he says tartly, still feeling bitter over Ren’s little victory.

 _“Not a hunch,”_ Ren reminds him. _“Perhaps you should learn to trust me, General. You don’t enjoy looking the fool, do you?”_

“Don’t gloat,” he mutters. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

Ren takes a step closer to him, invading his space, testing his petty tactics on Hux again. Despite himself, Hux bristles.

_“Had you rerouted the Finalizer when I told you, we would’ve reached Jakku before the pilot.”_

“If you hadn’t killed Tekka outright, we wouldn’t _need_ to scour the planet for some miserable droid. I’m hardly the only one at fault here.”

Just barely, Hux can see Ren’s shoulders rising and falling with each breath, as though he’s trying to calm himself. Very rarely does this exercise actually work.

Hux doesn’t know what kind of trouble is brewing inside Ren, but he’s in no mood to deal with the fallout. So, he folds his hands neatly together behind his back and says, “Is that all?”

 _“For now,”_ Ren says quietly, finally turning away and stalking down the corridor.

This time, Hux waits until the other man is well out of sight before he continues to the command bridge. Whatever issues Ren is dealing with now, Hux has a feeling it’s only a matter of time before they become his problems too.

He just doesn’t realize how truly monstrous they’ll become for his more lucid self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since I don't have anyone editing this, I apologize for any errors you might encounter. My eyes tend to glaze over my own work after a while.
> 
> Anyway -- I've always really liked Luke. I have a feeling Snoke probably got to Ren earlier than either Han and Leia realized, and that Luke probably gave it his all to help the boy. I can't imagine him being a unsympathetic mentor.


	3. The mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't enjoy reiterating the exact script from a movie or show, but a little of that was necessary in this chapter. Everything is about to go haywire soon enough though. I promise.

_"Satirize wickedness if you must—but pity weakness.”_

― L.M. Montgomery

~***~

He already has men on the surface looking for the droid, but Captain Phasma sends a second wave when a minor sandstorm buries its tracks overnight. Some of the planet’s inhabitants have already stepped forward to report sightings of the small orange and white BB unit, either hoping for a reward or attempting to get the First Order well on its way toward leaving. But a droid can travel a fair distance once it learns to navigate its terrain, and so the search perimeter only grows before his very eyes.

Hux spends most of alpha shift standing in terse silence on the command bridge, staring out the viewport. Jakku looks unremarkable from space, an off-white, smooth sphere, marred by a significant impact crater in the Northern hemisphere. It was once a verdant planet, a veritable oasis of the Inner Rim before some great calamity stripped it of its vitality. Now the only water it holds runs deep below the surface, an invisible vein pulsing with barely enough energy to maintain life. If it weren’t for the plethora of space ports dotted across the equator, a hotspot of trade for necessities from other planets in the system, Jakku wouldn’t be able to sustain its people for more than a few cycles.

At the end of beta shift, he considers staying put until the droid is found, but then a wave of fatigue washes over him so suddenly it rocks him precariously back on his heels. Dots of light dance across his vision. His knees almost buckle under his weight.

Lt. Mitaka gives him a curious side-long glance as Hux rights himself, wise enough not to draw anyone’s attention to it. Hux has a reputation for working himself to the bone anyway. This is hardly the first time he’s been dazed by exhaustion.

Hands feeling oddly numb, Hux smooths down the front of his uniform and turns to his Lieutenant. “Inform me once the droid is found.”

“Sir,” Mitaka replies with a curt nod, staring resolutely at his datapad as Hux strolls past him toward the main corridor.

He falls into something of a trance as he walks the long distance to his berth. His surroundings take on an almost ethereal quality, the walls and ceiling unbearably bright and hazy, like a dream. He feels as though he’s floating as he finally ducks into his quarters, wondering why he’s so light-headed when he hasn’t missed a meal all day.

He deposits his gloves on his desk and then sits heavily on his mattress, bending forward to untie his boots. He’s barely conscious long enough to kick them off before he collapses sideways, head falling short of his pillow.

As soon as he’s horizontal, he remembers that this is a sign of urgency from General Organa. She’s only reached out to him like this twice before, knowing full well how dangerous it can be to subdue him before he’s naturally prepared for one of their meetings.

He closes his eyes and allows her to pull him under.

He opens his mind’s eye to see her standing on the balcony of her imaginary office, gazing longingly at the perpetual sunset. Hux walks out to greet her, glancing down at the dazzling capital of Naboo below them. The is the home of her birthmother, if he recalls correctly.

“Dameron is alive,” he informs her, already aware of why she would be hard pressed to draw him so abruptly back into her world. “Tekka gave him a map to Luke. He handed it off to his droid before he was captured, but it’s only a matter of time before the First Order finds it. Your son knows about the droid.”

There’s a gentle shift of her robes as her shoulders drop in defeat. She looks down at the railing between her hands, gripping it hard for support. She takes a deep breath. “Has Poe said anything else? Did he mention our current location?”

“Not yet,” he replies softly. Hux is always the first to be informed of any and all information gleaned from their prisoners. If Dameron spilled any details about the Resistance in his first interrogation session, Hux would’ve called on another Star Destroyer to deal with them immediately. “But you know how it goes, General…”

Everyone talks eventually.

People who sign up for the Resistance know they’ve shortened their life-expectancy by at least half, but Hux can see how badly she’s affected by Dameron’s capture. The young man had always been one of her best pilots—and, perhaps, one of her dearest friends.

“Can you get him out?” she asks, though her voice lacks its usual timbre of hope.

The chances of him succeeding in any such endeavor are nigh impossible. Not only is Dameron unaware of Hux’s business with the Resistance, and should therefore feel no inclination to trust him, but there’s absolutely no reason Hux could concoct for himself to personally escort a prisoner around the ship. He might reasonably follow along behind the stormtroopers assigned to ferry Dameron between his prison cell and the interrogation room, but then Hux would have to find a way to quietly dispatch them somewhere along the way, affording Dameron the opportunity to escape. The success of that daring feat would rely heavily on Dameron’s current condition, which isn’t promising considering how long Ren and the interrogation droids have been at him already.

He sighs and bows his head apologetically. Understanding, she then asks an equally difficult question: “Can you make it quick?”

“Possibly,” he says, still not willing to make any promises. The most he can do right now is pull aside a droid and reprogram it before Dameron’s next session; make it a little too zealous in its duty. It won’t have any trouble killing the man, but how soon it gets the job done is anyone’s guess.

Hux leans against the balcony with his hip and glances out at the horizon. He’s killed a lot of people in the past year alone, but this will be the first time he’s murdered an innocent man in his lucid state. The thought of what lies ahead makes him feel queasy. Even though Dameron was no doubt made aware of the risks before he set out on this mission, Hux understands the inherent difficulty of coming to terms with one’s own death.

Nobody in this War wants to die. He’s sure Poe Dameron counts himself amongst their numbers.

As always, Hux needs to limit the time they spend together here, so he pushes forward to the next item on their agenda. “Once we’re done at Jakku, it will take us a little over three cycles to reach the _Starkiller_ base. I need to know how the Resistance High Command would like me to proceed.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be long enough for us to complete our evacuation.”

Hux nods. He’d already thought as much. “I know the design of the base and can orchestrate a fatal flaw,” he offers, “but that will take time.”

“Precisely what kind of malfunction were you thinking of?”

“The weapon consumes stars as an energy source. Believe me when I say there’s plenty of room for error in that process.”

“With instantaneous consequences, I suppose,” she muses miserably, knowing full well he wouldn’t have much time to escape if it came to that. “Why not send our pilots in to do the job from afar?”

“No such mission would be possible without inside help, and if they fail, the First Order will stop at nothing to sniff out the traitor. Your son would look a little harder at anyone with intimate knowledge of the base, myself included.”

“Then neither option is ideal,” she sighs, although he can tell she clearly favors the latter. She was never particularly keen on sending people away on suicide missions. “I’ll relay your message to High Command and have an answer for you the next time we speak…You said you’re at least three cycles away from the base?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, she fiddles with a bracelet on her right wrist, a curiously unremarkable piece of jewelry made from small black and brown stones. Then she turns around and glances back into her office, eyes falling on the chaise lounge. “I wish…I wish Luke was still here.”

Hux doesn’t say anything. He shares the sentiment, of course, feeling similarly helpless in Luke’s absence. The old Jedi used to join their briefings quite often until Ben Solo turned away from the Light. Then he just disappeared, leaving them adrift.

Hux initially assumed Luke was killed in the scrimmage against his traitorous students. At least, when Hux was introduced to ‘Kylo Ren’ six years ago, this was the impression Ben gave him. Organa, of course, immediately allayed his fears by informing him she could still sense her brother through the Force, which was the same conclusion Snoke came to a few days later, albeit bitterly. Ren has been searching for the poor man ever since.

And so have they.

Hux misses him terribly.

“I understand why he left,” she adds quietly, still fiddling with her bracelet. “I just wish I knew why he won’t come back.”

“The crushing weight of unrealistic expectations, perhaps?”

Organa gives him a quizzical look.

“Luke didn’t defeat the old Empire himself,” he elaborates, realizing his initial response sounded a little insulting. “He had considerable help. Even from his father. It must be daunting to suddenly be called back to arms like some kind of messiah when he probably still feels beaten down by the guilt of failing your son.”

“But I don’t blame him for that,” she says softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Nobody blames him for that.”

“Kylo Ren does. And for Luke, that might be enough.”

Organa flinches at the sound of Ben’s bastard name. Hux only mentioned it by mistake, so accustomed to addressing the man by his pseudonym in their daily lives.

“I’ve lingered a little too long,” he says, coughing uncomfortably into his fist. Time, as always, is of the essence. “I’m truly sorry about your pilot. If another opportunity presents itself, you know I’ll take it.”

She reaches over to take one of his hands in her own and squeezes it, the same way she’s squeezed it for a little over a decade now, a silent gesture of unwavering gratitude and support. “I know you’ll do what’s best.”

He bows his head in respect.

Slowly, her hand slips from his. The scenery fades away in tiny grey blotches as he returns to consciousness, lying on his side, staring at the door.

His head spins as he sits back up, taking a moment to collect himself before he leans over to snatch his boots off the floor. He fusses over his uniform for a while after he stands, hoping he hasn’t creased it, then grabs his gloves off his desk and marches out into the corridor.

The urge to run is strong, but Hux forces himself to move at an even pace. It’s only on occasion that he remains in his lucid state beyond his meetings with General Organa, and even then, he rarely, if ever, leaves his quarters. He’s had to carry out other underhanded missions in the past at the Resistance’s behest, but that was before Ren was a permanent fixture of the _Finalizer_. Running interference was much easier when a mind reader didn’t have free rein of his ship.

Unfortunately, he’s about to face his worst nightmare.

Hux has had some truly terrifying experiences in his short lifetime, but almost nothing compares to encountering Kylo Ren while he’s in his lucid state. The man suddenly rounds the corner ahead of him, black cape billowing around him as he strides briskly in Hux’s direction. His helmet is tucked under his right arm, an unusual sight considering how reverently Kylo covets his mask, but the other man looks flushed and a little sweaty, as though he’d been training and needed a chance to breathe freely.

Hux halts on impulse. This abrupt transition from steady motion to ramrod straight, ironically, is what draws Ren’s attention. Once pensively studying the ground before him, Ren’s gaze now snaps up, zeroing in on Hux. Then he frowns, possibly because he knows Hux already spent three back-to-back shifts on the bridge.

Ren slows his pace and corrects his course to confront Hux head on.

Hux’s adrenal glands kick into action immediately, dumping enough epinephrine into his system to send his brain flying into hyperdrive. His heart beats a frantic staccato inside his chest, loud enough that he’s almost convinced Ren can hear it.

He doesn’t understand why his body is so hellbent on exposing him without a fight. He knows he’s better than this.

It’s a struggle to convince himself that there’s no indication that the game is up just yet, so he folds his hands together behind his back and tilts his chin up in derision at his companion. Despite the sudden thickness of his saliva, he manages to sound his usual haughty self as he says, “Yes?”

“Anything on the droid?” Ren asks, brows gently creased. Impulsively, he brushes back the scraggly hair from his face, perhaps looking a tad uncomfortable at having been caught by Hux without his mask.

Moved by his greater mental and emotional facilities, Hux reflexively feels the slightest twinge of pity. For all the fear that Kylo Ren inspires, his insecurities are painfully obvious to anyone brave enough to look for them. And to Hux, who’s made a hobby of sniffing out weaknesses from a young age, Ren looks very much like a boy still trying to grow into his skin—albeit an incredibly dangerous one at that, only safely judged as immature by emotional standards. Ren could certainly be clever when he wanted to be.

And cruel.

Crueller even than Hux.

Hux glances down and away for a moment, trying to clear his thoughts. “Sightings, but not much else. Once we have more to go by, you will, of course, be informed.”

Ren gives a tight nod of his head. Their eyes connect momentarily.

Hux steps around him to continue on his way. “If you don’t mind—”

Ren moves to intercept him, hand pressed up against Hux’s chest. “A moment, General.”

Ren knows he can’t stand to be touched, so pushing the man’s arm away can only been seen as a natural reaction on Hux’s part. “This is neither the time nor the place, Lord Ren.”

“When is it ever?” Ren growls, raising his hand to stop Hux a second time.

Tentatively, Hux pushes it away, although slower now, not confident he could succeed in a third pass.

He feels as though something is about to go horribly wrong. Something beyond his current predicament of secreting his way down the corridors like a thief in the night.

Something that’s been brewing for a while…

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his voice as two stormtroopers march stiffly past them. Hux’s heart is in his throat.

The hand hovering before his chest curls into a fist; Ren’s breath sounds sharp and laborious at this meager distance.

“Accompany me to my quarters,” Ren says finally, moving past Hux to continue on his way.

Hux turns but hesitates. He needs to avoid giving Ren a chance to play mind games with him almost as badly as he needs to deal to Dameron. He can’t afford to go anywhere with his co-commander now.

Noticing his lack of company, Ren stops short to glance back at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but an officer jogs into the corridor just then, making a beeline for Hux.

“General,” she huffs, face flushed. “You’re needed on the bridge. There’s been an unsanctioned departure from Bay 2.”

Hux’s brain is slow on the uptake. But then he and Ren share an almost habitual look and it suddenly occurs to him that the only person who’d want to leave the _Finalizer_ without permission is their prisoner.

Ren’s face twists with rage as he pulls on his helmet and stalks down the hall, possibly on his way to check the interrogation room. Hux feels relief wash over him as he turns to the officer. “Follow him,” he says, “and then report back to me.”

She pales at the request, but follows his order, clearly confused with the whole situation. Hux hotfoots it to the bridge and hums his little tune just before he steps into the room. Confusion hits him like a durasteel wall, a significant gap cropping up in his memory between lying down and returning to his post. He stops mid-stride.

That confusion slowly gives way to alarm as he sees his officers hustling about the bridge. Through the viewport, he spots a TIE-fighter flying out of formation, looping over and around itself to avoid the other ships closing in, returning fire when able.

An officer rushes to his side, clutching a datapad to his chest. “It’s the prisoner, General. He’s escaped.”

Heat rises under his collar. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. “How?” he snaps.

“He was assisted by one of our stormtroopers,” the young man adds anxiously, glancing down at his datapad. “They destroyed the command tower in Bay 2 on their way out. We’re trying to identify which stormtrooper aided him.”

The muscles in his jaw tighten as the TIE-fighter disappears from view, diving toward the underside of the _Finalizer_. Hux can already guess what the man is up to, knows that Poe Dameron is well-aware that he won’t get very far with the _Finalizer_ firing at his back.

Sure enough, one of his officers quickly announces a hit. “Sir, they’ve taken out our turbolasers!”

Hardly a death blow, but _any_ damage is too much damage in his eyes.

Hux turns away from the viewport, eyeing Lt. Mitaka at his small command station. “Use the ventral cannons.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, just as Ren’s dark figure swoops into the bridge. “Bringing them online.”

 _“General Hux,”_ Ren interjects, searching for clarification. _“Is it the Resistance pilot?”_

Hux doesn’t even know where to begin explaining how such a thing could be possible. He supposes he should blame Ren for not keeping a closer eye on their prisoner, but the fact that a _stormtrooper_ was the one who released him is hard news to swallow. It feels like a personal insult.

Habitually, Hux folds his hands behind his back. “Yes, and he had help. From one of our own.” The admission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He turns abruptly away and takes a step toward the viewport. “We’re checking the registers now to identify which stormtrooper it was.”

 _“The one from the village.”_ Ren supplies without hesitation. _“FN-2187.”_

Hux whips back around, too stunned for words.

If Ren had _known_ something was amiss with one of his men, he should’ve reported it.

“Sir,” Mitaka cuts in. “Ventral cannons hot.”

Through the haze of his anger, Hux hisses, “ _Fire_.”

In the cold vacuum of space, Hux knows Poe Dameron and his wayward accomplice are about to play a very dangerous game with death. 

In the corner of his eye, he spots the chromatic gleam of Captain Phasma’s armor. She is standing beside one of the command stations, a report already pulled up on the holoscreens. As Hux approaches, he catches sight of one of the images in the report: an infant’s face.

This the first file ever submitted for their rogue stormtrooper.

“Is this the one?” he asks, watching all sequential files fly by, showing a young boy growing into a man. To all outward appearances, FN-2187’s stats are impressive. In fact, he’s the model soldier. “Lord Ren led me to believe he went awry on Jakku.”

 _“He gave no indication of trouble on Jakku,”_ she replies coldly, no doubt just as insulted by this infraction as he is. _“But when we returned to the Finalizer_ , _he removed his helmet without permission.”_

“Anxiety?” he inquires. Unusual, but not unheard of. “What measures did you take with him?”

_“FN-2187 reported to my division, was evaluated, and sent to reconditioning.”_

A textbook solution to a textbook problem. He searches the reports for any abnormalities, but nothing is forthcoming. “No prior signs of nonconformity?”

_“This was his first offence.”_

“General?” the officer to his left inquires softly. As Hux turns to join her at her station, he catches sight of Ren still haunting the back of the bridge, pacing like a caged animal. “They’ve been hit.”

“Destroyed?” he asks, almost hopeful.

“Disabled. They were headed back to Jakku.” She pulls up a map of the planet’s surface. A dotted red line arches over the desert, a small diamond indicating the fugitives’ current location. “The fighter is projected to crash in the Goazon badlands.”

Far from help, Hux thinks idly, but just as distant from the search patrols already down on Jakku.

He glances up at Captain Phasma. “They’re going back for the droid. Send a squad to the wreckage.”

She’s already out the door before he can finish that statement, two other stormtroopers falling in line behind her. She moves like a force of nature, terrible and unforgiving, officers side-stepping out of her way as if their lives depended on it.

In her absence, Ren’s presence only becomes more pronounced. Hux blatantly ignores the man as he returns to the viewport and stares out across the stars, trying to stamp down the sense of failure rising in his throat. FN-2187 will need to be interrogated extensively to find the flaw in his conditioning before he’s executed. Of course, his demise on Jakku is an acceptable alternative, but Hux still longs for the satisfaction of watching him perish before his very eyes.

Hux takes a slow, deep breath. His father was the one who initially developed the new stormtrooper program, but it was Hux who refined it and increased its scale. He knew enough about the human psyche to understand what natural weaknesses could be exploited, razed to the ground, or cultivated into a more unusual kind of strength.

After all, he was subjected to a similar program as a child.

The thought that one of his soldiers could step so far out of line with no prior warning is a jarring experience. Phasma will, of course, see to it that the others are appropriately re-evaluated, but the damage has already been done. It’s a blemish on his otherwise pristine record, the first nick in his long history as a pale but powerful figure behind the might of the First Order.

Unconsciously, he touches the corner of his lip, leather ghosting over an imaginary cut, one which wasn’t quite so imaginary many years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm a fan of longer chapters, but what I have planned next would make for an incredibly long chapter, hence the shortness of this one. I apologize for jumping all over the place with the length.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the update.


	4. Malcontent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had a fun time doing a little math for this chapter. Technically, I figured out how old everyone was during _The Force Awakens_ , but back-tracking to determine how old everyone would’ve been when they initially met was mind-boggling. Both Adam Drive and Domnhall Gleeson are 34, but Domnhall is the only one of the two who plays his actual age in the movies. Kylo Ren, on the other hand, is supposed to be 29. He destroyed Luke’s Jedi school six years previous, meaning Hux would’ve been 28 if they met right after Ren fled to Snoke; Ren would’ve been 23 at that time. He probably felt pretty successful for all but annihilating the Jedi at his age.
> 
> No wonder Hux thinks he’s such a little sh*t.
> 
>  **Side note** : There’s another flashback segment in this chapter. So, in the interest of not confusing anyone, I’ve decided to precede flashbacks with a divider that looks like this: “~*8*8*8*~”; regular scene changes in current time will continue to be preceded with the “~***~” divider.

_“What’s worse than knowing you want something,_

_besides knowing you can never have it?”_

― James Patterson

~***~

The holochamber has always reminded him of a crypt.

The darkness is required to sharpen Snoke’s projection, but the way the dust in here drifts with a careless mien through the solitary overhead light calls to memory old things worn away to nothing. It further reminds him of how isolated this little corner of the ship really is. It’s a cold and suffocating space; He feels ill just breathing in the air, like he’s taken in some pathogen, now clinging maliciously to the inside of his tender throat.

The possibility of death hangs heavily over him like a shroud in this unholy place.

Snoke’s presence only amplifies the sensation. His projection is much larger than his actual size, but Hux can hardly muster any criticism for him. Snoke still manages to loom in person, perched upon his throne with deceptive frailty, the same way Kylo Ren somehow manages to tower over the bridge from the shadows. It’s a trick of the Force, Hux imagines, but not one that should be taken lightly. After all, Snoke is galaxies away right now, and yet he could reach across the stars to smite Hux where he stands with nothing more than a narrow glance.

It’s fortunate then that Snoke is in something of a fair mood today.

 _“Retrieve the droid if possible,”_ the Supreme Leader says, waving his hand dismissively. He knows about the droid and the map and the Resistance pilot that got away, but there is something Snoke understands about this whole affair that Ren still refuses to learn: that destroying a potential weapon will always be a better alternative to allowing it to fall into enemy hands. _“Do not hesitate to destroy it if you feel it necessary, General.”_

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

_“And do not allow Lord Ren to convince you otherwise. I feel he is still too preoccupied with his old mentor to be of any use to you in this matter.”_

Hux gives that statement a moment of careful contemplation.

This is far from the first time Snoke has discussed his pupil with Hux in private, but the Supreme Leader usually strays from any subject even remotely related to Luke Skywalker between them alone, if for no other reason to keep Hux’s attention away from one of Ren’s more glaring flaws. Of course, Snoke would love nothing more than to see the last Jedi join his brethren in the afterlife, but this has become too much of a point of obsession with Ren in the last standard year. Ren’s longing for retribution has consumed him beyond the norm. It is fortunate then that Snoke is willing to acknowledge this.

Hux nods his head but keeps his lips sealed. He knows better than to speak out of turn in matter as this curious this.

Thankfully, Snoke is of a mind to lay the whole out in the open between them. _“Your assessment of his current state?”_ He inquires.

Hux has no doubt Snoke asks Ren the same question of him in their own time together. Since he doesn’t imagine Ren feels moved spare him even an ounce of mercy, Hux is blunt in his response: “He’s disintegrating.”

Almost imperceptibly, Snoke tilts his head curiously to one side, listening, waiting.

“He’s always had a temper,” Hux elaborates, tension building along the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. It’s a familiar physiological response whenever he’s asked to discuss his co-commander, because he can never be too sure Ren won’t catch wind of what he says. “However, his outbursts have increased in frequency. Is this supposed to be the outcome of his training?”

Hux does not pretend to understand the ways of the Force, but he’s well versed in the story of the Darkness versus the Light. Snoke and his students occupy the former of these two realms. It’s a place of great passion and even greater loathing, which is why Hux could almost be convinced Ren’s behavior is nothing out of the ordinary.

 _“No,”_ Snoke replies, but Hux catches just a glimpse of his crooked smile, an indication that this is, in fact, a symptom that concerns him little. _“You’ve always been frank in your distaste for him. I commend you for it.”_

Hux bows his head again, still cautious.

It’s always difficult to tell when he’s said too much.

But Snoke still shows no signs of edging the door to this matter closed. _“If you were to suggest a remedy for the unfortunate turn in your relationship with Lord Ren, what would it be, General?”_

Hux’s brow furrows with confusion. This must be some kind of test. Even so, he sees no danger in speaking the truth. “Lord Ren and I have always been at odds with each other. That’s unlikely to change. Regardless, he _is_ a capable officer in his own right, and therefore I would simply have him installed on another ship.”

Snoke nods slowly, looking up and away, as if entertaining his solution in earnest. But Hux knows him well enough not to hold out any hope of ever seeing it implemented.

Sure enough, Snoke is not convinced. _“As ideal as that would seem, you were made co-commanders for a reason,”_ he intones, beginning the well-worn speech he’s delivered to Hux since Kylo Ren was first brought into the First Order’s fold. _“You are to cover for one another’s weaknesses until those weaknesses can be eliminated. Operating at opposite ends of the universe is not a feasible solution.”_

“Are you merely asking for the sake of speculation?” Hux inquires, trying to keep his tone down to a respectful level. “Because what influence I have over your pupil is _severely_ limited.”

There’s that slow smile again, the one that tells him this is, indeed, just speculation. It’s likely Snoke’s been using this opportunity to parse through his subconscious mind, perhaps on the lookout for any misguided thoughts of ejecting Ren out the nearest airlock. Hux has, in the past, contemplated orchestrating his co-commander’s death, although thankfully Snoke can tell the difference between wishful thinking and high treason.

Even so, Hux has no desire to be subjected to Snoke’s unique brand of castigation ever again.

Quietly, Hux sighs. Truth be told, it’s taken him many years to come to terms with the fact that he might very well be Ren’s _‘equal’_ until the end of his days. They were introduced a little over six years ago, when Ren was just 23, five years his junior. Ren was deceptively tall for his age, and strong, and had a sharpness about him that was honed from watching both his mother and his father at work from a young age, but he was still developing on an emotional level. He had always been quick to anger and slow to acclimatize. Wrangling Ren into some semblance of a respectable member of the First Order had been, perhaps, one of Hux’s greatest challenges, especially because he himself was still so young at the time. In fact, he had only just been promoted to General when they first met. It was as though Snoke had always intended for them to grow together.

It’s almost a shame they really haven’t.

 _“Think of him what you will,”_ Snoke replies. _“But tread carefully, General.”_

Hux’s confusion deepens, but already Snoke is vanishing before his very eyes, his smoky impression fading into the aethers. Hux's mind reels in his absence, wondering how long it’ll be before Ren oversteps one boundary too many, before he fails in a way that is truly unforgiveable.

Dissatisfied with their discussion, Hux pivots sharply on his back heel and proceeds to the command bridge, internally searching for something sensible to latch onto. The repairs to their turbolasers are currently underway and he knows Phasma will have an update for him soon concerning the droid. That is what he needs to focus on, the things aboard and below this ship that he presently has some measure of control over.

Unfortunately, Ren will forever be the shadow clutching at his heels, dragging him back two steps for every step he takes forward. Hux finds it difficult nowadays not to feel physically ill in his presence, just as he does now, anger and anxiety coiling around his stomach like a vice as he spots Ren by the front viewport. The man stands as still as a statue, staring out across the darkness, seemingly oblivious to the officers who give him a wide berth as they try to go about their work in peace.

 _“You’ve informed the Supreme Leader of our situation?”_ Ren queries, something light and mocking shining through the artificial buzz of his vocoder. He doesn’t turn to face Hux as the General approaches.

Hux fiddles with the cuff of his right glove, adjusting the leather against his skin, pulling it taut over his knuckles. He imagines what it would feel like to punch his co-commander in the throat.

“Yes, he’s aware of the situation.” Hux takes a moment to stare out the main viewport himself, mind automatically cataloging their approximate position in the galaxy based on the constellation of the stars. “I’m surprised you didn’t run off to tell him yourself.”

_“I thought I would spare you the indecency of having him call upon you on the bridge.”_

Hux bristles at the taunt. “A wasted gesture, I assure you. He knows I have the situation well under hand. In fact, I have his permission to destroy the map, even if only to prevent the Resistance from obtaining it.”

 _That_ , at long last, gets one of his more favorable responses out of Kylo Ren. The man’s head snaps toward him as he clenches his hands into fists, no doubt terrified by the prospect of losing such a vital piece of information concerning his old mentor’s whereabouts.

 _“Unacceptable,”_ Ren growls. Hux can tell he’s making a conscious effort to relax his hands, to rein in his emotions. Struggling as he is now brings Hux no small amount of joy. _“You know how valuable that map is to my work. It might be the only copy in existence.”_

“You mean since you killed Lor San Tekka?” He will never tire of grinding his heel into this oversight. “If you had interrogated him instead, we’d be well on our way to Skywalker’s sanctuary right now.”

Ren twists away from the viewport as though he’s been offended by the stars themselves, and then slowly stalks the length of the command bridge. _“We’ll be on our way soon enough. The droid will be found.”_

Hux turns just as suddenly, heeding Snoke’s advice to keep Ren’s mind on their true goal here, which is to assure that Luke Skywalker can never be called back to battle again. “Supreme Leader Snoke was explicit. Capture the droid if we can but destroy it if we must.”

Ever so softly, he can hear a snort of derision through Ren’s mask. _“How capable are your soldiers, General?”_

The reminder of FN-2187’s betrayal still stings, because no matter how many hundreds of thousands of assassins Hux successfully breathes life into, the blinding glare from this one mistake will always blot out the light of his triumphs.

“I won’t have you questioning my methods,” he snaps. He can feel the heat rising under his collar.

 _“They’re obviously skilled at committing high treason,”_ Ren carries on, undeterred. He’s enjoying this, making Hux squirm. _“Perhaps Leader Snoke should consider a clone army.”_

Hux cuts in front of him so suddenly, he manages to catch sight of quite a few officers watching them before they can avert their eyes in fear. They’re probably wondering how far this argument will escalate before one of them reaches their boiling point.

“My men are exceptionally trained,” Hux seethes. “Programmed from birth.”

_“Then they should have no problem retrieving the droid. Unharmed.”_

The emphasis on that last word is an ugly dig, as though Hux would stoop so low as to destroy the droid if a safe retrieval were possible. But Ren is forgetting something very important here.

Hux is nothing like him.

He takes no more than a moment to compose himself and lower his voice, although he makes no effort to hide his venom. “Careful, Ren, that your personal interests not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke.”

Ren, as always, tries to reignite the tension between them with his usual petty tactic, taking a step closer to invade Hux’s personal space. _“I want that map,”_ he says plainly. _“For your sake, I suggest you get it.”_

How Ren plans on punishing him for any perceived failure goes unsaid, but Hux doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t allow Ren to coax him into a frenzy right there on the bridge. Instead, he stands his ground and stares straight ahead as his co-commander brushes past him, jaw working in agitation.

Hux can see two of his officers visibly relaxing as Ren’s footsteps fade into the distance. All at once, a small hum starts up in the room, rising to the usual level of chatter among the people who work this shift, as though some unknown curse has finally been lifted.

He turns to the nearest officer. She practically glides the short distance to his side, datapad at the ready. “General?”

“Get a hold of Captain Phasma,” he says. “Tell her I want an update on the droid every hour, on the hour.” As an afterthought, he adds, “I also want to be informed if Lord Ren decides to leave the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies, making note of his order and relaying it to whoever is on duty in the loading bays.

Slowly, he turns away from her, moving back to his usual position before the viewport. The stars beckon him, trying to call his mind to peace.

But he knows no peace will ever be found so long as he’s forced to contend with Kylo Ren.

~*8*8*8*~

Back when Kylo Ren was still just a figment of some young man’s misguided dreams, Luke would take the time to visit Hux in his lucid state.

Not often, and usually only when General Organa was already scheduled to speak with him, but every once in a while Hux would open his mind’s eye to see a blue sky buried behind a thick canopy, the smell of something crisp and green permeating the air. Sometimes his arm or ribs would twinge with a phantom pain, but he would always feel at peace.

Luke designed this secret hiding place inside his mind so that Hux and his sister could meet in private, but Luke would utilize it on his own when he knew there was something Hux needed on a deeper level, something he would be too ashamed to share with Organa.

Such as this.

The pop and crackle of splitting wood sounded off to his left, so Hux rolled over on the soft wool blanket beneath him and gazed into the fire. Smoke curled up into the sky, heatwaves distorting Luke’s face on the other side of the blazing warmth. The Jedi was sitting on a log, reading an ancient tome.

Realizing Hux was fully immersed in their session now, Luke closed the book and fixed his gaze on the younger man. “I already know what’s wrong,” he said, “but I think it would benefit you to say it out loud.”

The muscles in Hux’s throat coiled tightly around his vocal cords. He’d felt sick to his stomach over his latest misdeed for the last three nights now.

He rolled over onto his back again, staring up into the sky. It took him a moment to choke out his confession:

“I killed my father.”

He’d always hated the man. Always feared him. Always yearned for his approval. In fact, if Brendol Hux had died of natural causes, Hux likely wouldn’t have shed a single tear over his passing. He was a horrible man who tortured children, and Hux liked to imagine he was suffering somewhere in the great beyond for all that hurt he caused everyone in his long lifetime.

But he was still Hux’s father, and there was some part of Hux’s brain that rebelled against the idea of killing the man responsible for siring him—a part that his _other_ self had no problem ignoring throughout the time it took him to plot his father’s murder. It was as if a basic mechanism of his brain no longer functioned during his ‘waking’ hours. Something about it was twisted and broken. Perhaps beyond repair.

It was with unparalleled horror that Hux had been forced to watch his other self enlist Captain Phasma’s help in carrying out the deed, to tear his father from his mortal coil with a lowly Parnassos beetle. It was with even greater horror that he reflected on the malicious glee his other self derived from his father’s agonizing passing.

He felt he no longer recognized himself.

“It’s easier to fall prey to the darkness than anyone realizes,” Luke murmured comfortingly. “To be raised in an environment like yours, this kind of outcome was inevitable.”

“How close am I to making the same backward slide?” he asked tentatively. He and his other self _were_ one in the same, in a sense. Hux was capable of making the same bad choices, no matter his frame of mind.

“I’m surprised you have to ask,” Luke chuckled softly, turning his book over in his hands, running his fingers down the worn spine. “All of our boundaries are imaginary. We make them and break them as we go. The fact that you’re suffering from this decision should be proof enough that you’re not currently capable of the same misdeeds as your ‘other’ self.”

“…But someday, perhaps?”

“That’s the nature of the game,” Luke continued. “At any given moment, anyone in the universe can make the conscious decision to turn to the dark side. Even me. But so long as you continue to experience that nagging feeling, the one that turns your stomach and tells you to run the other way, that moment moves farther and farther into the future—until, eventually, it reaches a point beyond your death.”

Hux laid in silence for a while, listening to the imaginary sounds of Luke’s imaginary forest. He could hear birds chirping in the distance. A small insect tittered close by. Luke’s words rang in his ears, not at all as ominous as Hux initially thought.

“How did you get to be so wise?” Hux wondered out loud, turning back over onto his side.

“Trial and error.”

“Do you ever doubt yourself?”

“All the time.” Luke leaned over to grab his staff, poking at the wood in the fire. It popped and crackled again, kicking embers up into the air. “Honestly, it’s not so bad if you know how to ask for help. That’s the hardest lesson of all.”

“Is this one your students know well?”

“Some of them,” he sighed. “Most are quite stubborn. I think I took them on as pupils a little too late. If they’ve hit their teenaged years before their first morally ambiguous lesson, they don’t develop the right amount of humility to cope well, you know?”

Hux snorted in disbelief. “How old was I when we met?”

“You were different,” Luke replied. “You were at a precious age where you were still young enough to feel vulnerable, but old enough both to understand _why_ you were vulnerable and to realize you didn’t _want_ to be vulnerable anymore.”

“Then maybe your students are just a few years shy of growing into that same malleable age.”

“I hope so,” Luke laughed, but there was a tension in his voice that betrayed some inner conflict he was trying to weather his way through. Hux wondered if it had something to do with his school. “They drive me nuts sometimes. Maybe, when they’re older, I’ll introduce them to you.”

“I think I would like that.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Luke added, something like mischief dancing in his eyes. “At least half of them can read minds already. You might not enjoy having a herd of maniacs rummaging through your darkest fantasies on the sly.”

“Can’t be as bad as having Snoke inside my head.” Hux had finally met the man in person a few cycles ago. He’d submitted the plans for the _Starkiller_ base, yet another nightmare his waking self was trying to bring to fruition.

Pre-emptively, Hux had shared those same plans with General Organa during their last briefing.

The humorous crook at the corner of Luke’s lip faded away into concern. “What’s that like?” he asked faintly.

Hux had spent a lot of time pondering that same question. He knew Luke pried into his mind without permission, but it never felt like this was the Jedi’s intention. Luke was the proverbial man standing on the street outside his humble abode, glancing up at Hux through the front window. Luke was… _beholding_ only what Hux had allowed to seep through into the outside world, observing all the little things he left out in the open in the parlor. Snoke, on the other hand, was more like the stranger he found in the dead of night standing at the foot of his bed, uninvited and yet expectant, lurking somewhere deep within his ruined haven.

“An invasion,” he murmured.

“He’s not as powerful as he thinks,” Luke replied, trying to offer him some kind of reassurance. “He can’t penetrate the walls I’ve erected for you. You would have to invite him in here willingly. Or he would have to catch us in the act.”

That sent a chill down his spine. “You mean like now? If he was nearby, he would be able to see us?”

“Theoretically, yes, but you’ve given me absolute power over this domain.” Luke poked the fire again, frowning gently. “I can keep him out for you, but I don’t know if Leia is strong enough for that. Err on the side of caution with her. Don’t dally when you meet.”

A heavy weight settled inside Hux’s stomach. He’d been climbing the ranks faster than even he anticipated, thanks largely in part to _Starkiller_. Any farther, and he might be installed on Snoke’s flagship, the _Supremacy_. Then he would never have a moment’s peace.

Meeting with General Organa any time thereafter would be akin to walking blindfolded through a battlefield

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Luke began tentatively, still poking the fire, more so to give himself something to do. “How long do you plan on terrorizing the First Order behind the scenes?”

Hux never did contemplate the extent to which he wanted to carry out this little game of subterfuge. Now that he was so deeply entwined with the inner workings of the First Order again, pulling out would be a difficult feat to achieve. He had people watching him, _constantly_ , always evaluating the sincerity of his efforts toward their cause.

“I want to see if they succeed in building _Starkiller_ ,” he supplied at long last. “Let them pour all their time and resources into it before I destroy it. Then I’ll run.”

“That could take years, kid. Do you think you can stomach waiting that long?”

While it was true that murdering his father had scarred Hux in a way that he will likely never overcome, and while he knew there were still greater evils his waking self was capable of undertaking, he’d only ever allowed himself to return to the First Order to become the Resistance’s viper in the grass. He was the closest thing they would ever have to an honest kill switch to this whole messy affair of intergalactic domination. No one would be able to gut them as efficiently as him.

“I’m willing to offer my services to the Resistance for as long as they have a use for me here.”

Luke nodded solemnly, as though he hadn’t expected any less from Hux. And although Hux feared what the future had in store for him, he knew he could bear it so long as he could keep a measure of separation between who he was in this moment and his waking self.

As long as _this_ part of him remained intact, he felt confident he could figure out a way to fulfill the Resistance’s needs in this war.

~***~

A cursory inspection of the damage dealt to Bay 2 reveals pretty much the worst of what Hux would expect from a rogue TIE-fighter letting itself loose in an enclosed space. He’d meant to drop by earlier so that he could approve the modifications his lead engineer made to the proposed repairs, but time, as always, had somehow managed to slip away from him again.

He didn’t need to be there in person to give his approval. Just glance over the necessary forms and sign his name on the dotted line, but something about FN-2187’s betrayal lured him to this place. It couldn’t have been easy to jump into the gunner’s seat and open fire on his fellow soldiers, and yet FN-2187 executed his hastily made plan with sickening ease. It went against his programming. In fact, Hux was confident he could hand his blaster over to any other stormtrooper and command them to open fire on him—and not one of them would be able to go through with the deed. FN-2187’s autonomy was…an anomaly.

The glass from the busted viewport was swept away hours ago, and yet residual bits of it crunch underfoot as he examines the command tower. Loose wires hang where a series of panels and computer monitors had been blown clear off the wall. Nine officers were severely burned in the attack and seven others were nursing minor injuries. He supposes it’s fortunate no one was killed, but this is a small mercy considering how viciously their belief in the system has been shaken by FN-2187’s malicious lesson in treason.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots an officer’s cap perched on the edge of one of the intact computer terminals. It’s covered in dust and looks as though someone accidentally trampled over it. No doubt one of the medics dropped it there when they came in to clear out the wounded.

Hux picks it up with no obvious goal in mind, turning it over in his hands. A long brown smear of dried blood stains the underside.

Contempt tugs the corner of his lip into a sneer.

If he ever gets his hands on FN-2187, he’ll kill the man himself.

“General?”

Hux gently replaces the cap on the computer terminal and turns to face Lt. Hakan. The man is sweating under his own cap, face remarkably pale given his naturally dark complexion.

“What is it?” Hux asks, struggling to find his voice.

“One of our ground patrols tracked the droid to a trading station,” Hakan begins weakly, “but they were intercepted by FN-2187 and a girl. Together, the insurgents took the droid and fled the planet on a stolen Corellian YT model freighter.”

For a moment, Hux feels as though all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

There’s so much _wrong_ with that one statement, he doesn’t know where to begin.

But he does, actually, which is to maintain a level head even when one of his officers looks as though he’s about to fly to pieces. Hux isn’t in the habit of punishing his soldiers for the faults of others, meaning Hakan has been put on edge by someone else.

“Lord Ren, I assume, has already been informed of the situation?”

His Lieutenant nods sharply.

“What did he destroy?”

“A console,” Hakan replies, which isn’t all that surprising. Ren’s demolished countless equipment on the bridge, so this can’t be all that he’s laid into. “And Lt. Mitaka.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hux snaps, the cold clutch of fear squeezing his heart. “Is Mitaka _dead_?”

“No, sir,” Hakan quickly amends. However, the uneasy look on his face implies his fellow Lieutenant is currently in a state where he probably wishes he _had_ been killed.

It takes every ounce of his self-control not to kick in some valuable piece of equipment himself for a change. Hux feels as though he’s reached a point well beyond caring that Lord Ren is his co-commander, Snoke’s orders bedamned. He needs to put an end to this.

But thinking of Snoke has an oddly sobering effect on him, not least of all because he knows he’ll have to report the finer details of his failure to Snoke in person.

“Has anyone informed the Supreme Leader yet?”

“Yes. Lord Ren. He’s scheduled a joint meeting with you and the Supreme Leader at the start of alpha-shift.”

Hux shifts his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. He won’t have Ren run him over with this, but it looks as though there’s little he can do to remedy the situation until tomorrow. Of course, Hux will accept full blame for the loss of the droid, but only to give himself an opening to offer his own ideal solution: the final testing of his _Starkiller_ base.

In the meantime, he’s going to have a word with Ren.

“You’re dismissed,” Hux replies, voice dangerously quiet.

Lt. Hakan has known him long enough by now to understand where his anger is directed. The man salutes him sharply and marches posthaste off the command tower.

Hux doesn’t hesitate much longer before exiting the command tower himself, moving without thinking, stalking down the white corridors to Ren’s cursed abode. The man almost always retreats to the solitude of his quarters after one of his attacks, as if _he’_ s the one who needs a moment to recuperate. In reality, Hux has little reason to believe Ren spends any of his time on self-reflection. He just goes on making the same mistakes as always, as though waiting for the universe to bend its rules to his whim.

Heels tapping viciously against the floor, Hix is given a wide berth as he cuts down the corridors. He’s consciously aware of the blaster resting against his hip and the monomolecular blade strapped to his left wrist. He knows the opportunity to use either on Ren is unlikely to present itself, but he still dreams of the day he catches his co-commander unaware, when he can creep upon his slumbering form and snuff his life out with one well-aimed shot to the head.

Hux tries to banish the thought as the door to Ren’s quarters comes into view. He won’t be murdering the treacherous wretch tonight and it won’t do him any good for Ren to think so. He’s already uncertain how well this confrontation will end.

He stops abruptly in front of Ren’s door and waves his hand over the sensor. Quietly it beeps, indicating that he can be heard. “This is General Hux,” he snaps. “A moment, Lord Ren?”

A solemn second. Then another. He furrows his brow when no response is forthcoming, but just as he’s about to wave his hand over the sensor again, the door slides open.

Kylo Ren’s quarters are cold, dark, and sparse. There’s a door to a refresher in one corner and a small chest for his personal affects adjacent to it, but really the only other items are the bed and the strange altar upon which the charred and twisted remains of Lord Vader’s mask have been reverently placed. Ren sits before it now in his solitary chair, his own mask resting on his lap, dark eyes trained on Hux as he steps into the room.

Ren, as always, looks something like a madman. His scraggly hair has fallen across his face, his brow beaded with sweat, the soft tissue under his eyes sunken and bruised. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Which might be the truth. Ren’s obsession with capturing Luke Skywalker is arguably more fanatic than Hux’s loyalty to his own cause. He doesn’t know what Ren does with his downtime; nor does he have the desire to learn.

Behind Hux, the door slides shut. What little light once spilled into the room from the corridor is now extinguished, pitching them into an even greater darkness.

Through the dim reality suspended in the space between, Ren looks like a phantom from the great beyond.

“I will not say this again,” Hux begins, voice low and ominous. His outrage at Ren’s behaviour supersedes all other emotions, one of which his rational mind reminds him should be fear. “My people are not _yours_. The rank bestowed upon you is nothing more than a formality, to give you the assurance of assistance when you need it. The people aboard this ship serve a purpose to the First Order, one which they _cannot_ accomplish if you continue to incapacitate them. Your reaction to Lt. Mitaka was _completely_ unacceptable.”

Ren’s face betrays nothing of his thoughts as he rises from his seat. He reaches forward to place his helmet beside his grandfather’s, slowly, fingertips dragging through the small pile of ash as he returns his hand to his side. He stares down at the altar for an uncomfortably long and silent moment.

Hux wonders if the man even heard him.

“Ren—”

“You feel different.”

The non-sequitur gives him pause, but anger quickly chases away his confusion. “Get out of my head!”

“I’m not inside your head,” Ren replies, a touch annoyed. And yet the tone of his voice remains low, close to neutral, as though he doesn’t care at all about Hux’s grievances. “It takes conscious effort to pull thoughts from a person’s mind; emotions are always willingly projected to me.” Ren finally tears his eyes away from Vader’s helmet to take Hux in, eyeing him from head to toe, like he’s beholding him for the first time. He tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “How do you do it?”

Hux is not about to play along with Ren’s little game of deflection. He came here for a reason and he’ll have the man hear him. “Are you listening to me? I would rather have this out before we meet with Snoke.” 

“Answer my question and I’ll agree to keep my hands off them.”

Ren’s blunt offer stops him short. Of course, Ren has made empty promises to that same effect in the past, but he’s usually good for his word for at least a couple of cycles. With _Starkiller_ well on its way to being fully operational, Hux might finally pull ahead of Ren in their maddening race before the Knight can go back on his word.

“Then you’ll have to explain yourself,” Hux mutters, which is as close to an affirmation as he’s willing to give. “I don’t know what it is you’re accusing me of.”

Ren’s dark eyes search his face as he takes a step closer. Finally, he speaks. “In all the years that I’ve been here, not once have a detected the slightest compulsion toward sympathy or compassion from you.” He takes another step forward, slowly enough that Hux barely notices. His eyes are locked on Ren’s, transfixed by how dark they are, like the glassy stare of a predator gliding silently beneath the surface of the water. “And yet, when I confronted you before the attack, your aura changed. You were… _moved_. I don’t know why. I said something, and you ached in response.” Another step. “You were more human in that moment than you had ever been before.”

Something inside Hux rears up in indignation at his assessment. Not for the accusation of his general inhumanity, but for the allegation that a weakness such as empathy could ever exist in his hollowed heart. There was no room for sympathy or compassion in his line of work. In fact, such things tended to be detrimental to one’s health in the First Order.

After all, it isn’t easy slipping a knife between your enemy’s ribs if you love them.

However, ludicrous as Ren’s assessment sounds, nothing about it is as ridiculous as the fact that no such… _compulsion_ has ever taken hold of Hux. Of all the previous encounters between them that Hux can recall, not once has he been ‘moved’ by anything other than repulsion for his co-commander. Therefore, this false memory cannot be anything more than a touch of madness.

“You’re wrong,” Hux seethes, so insulted he can barely think past his rage. He’s practically vibrating with it. “So _utterly_ wrong…”

Ren takes another step and suddenly Hux realizes there’s hardly any room left between them. He takes a step back on impulse. The hem of his coat brushes up against the door.

Ren shakes his head. “I want to know how you do it, how you rein in those emotions when we’re with Snoke.” His brow furrows briefly, as if something unusual just occurred to him. “Did Snoke teach you?”

If Hux thought Ren insulted him enough already, that question alone proves him wrong. “I’m not another one of his moon-eyed pupils,” he spits, feeling cornered and peeved and gearing up for an attack. “And I have _no_ recollection of this imaginary encounter. Either you were suffering from some kind of episode, Ren, or you were picking up on someone else’s emotions. Either way, this conversation is over.”

“It was you,” Ren persists, tone darkening. “I know what you feel like. I’ve borne the weight of all your other emotions for years. That compassion was yours.”

“I don’t have a use for compassion,” he hisses.

Hux doesn’t know who moves first. Fear and loathing compels him to extend his blade at the same moment Ren’s hand circles around his left wrist. With crushing force, Ren pins the offending arm against the door beside Hux’s head, thumb digging into the hilt hard enough to break the release mechanism. At the same time, he raises his other hand, resting it against the side of Hux’s face, his index finger placed strategically over his temple, thumb poised below Hux’s eye. Depending on his next whim, he could either blind Hux or pluck the memories from his mind like grapes off a vine with the same degree of ease and finesse.

Hux feels terribly lightheaded all of a sudden, but his vision is uninhibited, so he has to assume Ren opted for the latter attack. Not that it will do Ren any good. He’s looking for something that doesn’t exist.

“Where is it?’ Ren whispers, his breath hot against Hux’s face.

Hux, who’s heart is racing, who’s mind is a mess of anger and fear, has nothing left to say to him.

Ren’s brow furrows again, eyes narrowing, lips parting in disbelief. He looks desperate, like he’s grasping for something that he _needs_ to be there.

Then he takes them one step closer to disaster by tilting his head and sealing their mouths together in the approximation of a kiss.

Hux makes a sound in the back of his throat, too startled to formulate an immediate response. His head is pinned between the door, Ren’s hand, and the other man’s lips. He can feel a tongue probing between his lips, insistent and greedy. This turn of events is almost too surreal for him to comprehend.

The rational part of his brain tries to pull him back from the brink of madness by asking the simple question of _when_ , a reflection of how far back he could’ve possibly detected Ren’s own concealed emotions, of Ren’s desire to attempt something as bold as this. They’ve always been at each other’s throats, but he usually fears more for his general well-being than the continued status of his continence in the face of Ren’s anger. On the other hand, perhaps this is merely a new avenue for Ren’s passions: he doesn’t want intimacy so much as he wants control. In that case, this unusual encounter could almost be considered par for the course. They’re merely fighting in a way that won’t leave either of them dead.

In his confused state, Hux falls into the rhythm of their bizarre dance. He bites at Ren’s mouth in return, teeth clashing, precariouly close to drawing blood. Ren relishes the challenge. He tilts his head a little more to one side, the better to slot their lips together. Then he relinquishes his hold on Hux’s wrist.

The fingers of Hux’s left hand sting at the sudden change in blood circulation. He still reaches up with both hands to grab Ren by the forearms, holding the Knight steady as he contemplates the potential use of engaging in this kind of behavior with his co-commander. He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, dangerously close to discovering what lurks beneath the roiling darkness down below.

But the darkness comes rushing up to meet him before he can give it much thought as Ren uses his free hand to reach down between them, slipping through the natural part in the front of Hux’s tunic. His fingers search out the fastenings of Hux’s jodhpur trousers, fumbling the button open and the zipper down much sooner than Hux could’ve anticipated.

Hux squirms, his sound of surprise muffled against Ren’s lips. He squeezes his own arm down between them, grabbing Ren tightly around the wrist just as the other man slips his hand inside, cupping Hux, groping him. It triggers a sensation not too unlike having ice cold water poured over his head, snapping Hux back to reality so viciously it might as well have given him whiplash.

He’s not hard and he doesn’t want to have sex tonight. Not that either of those things have stopped him from having sex in the past, but Hux is a practical man. He knows he’s not in control of this situation and he knows Ren isn’t really either. That’s a terrible combination for the vulnerable kind of position Ren so desperately wants to put them in.

It would be easy to capitulate, of course. He can feel how hard Ren is against his thigh and he’s learned through experience that there’s always something to gain by taking a necessary tumble now and again, but he values his well-being a little too much to make that gamble. So, he shoves against Ren’s chest with his other hand and grounds out an unambiguous, “ _Stop_ ”, hoping for once that Ren is a better man than he ever gave him credit for.

Ren, thankfully, stops dead cold, but there’s a darkness in his eyes that speaks clearly of his displeasure. And his hand, while motionless, is still cupping Hux’s flaccid cock.

It’s hard not to feel fear creeping up on him again, a cold sweat breaking out under his collar and gathering in the gentle curve of his lower back. He’s still got one hand wrapped around Ren’s wrist and uses it to tug the offending appendage away from him. Ren complies.

“Open the door,” Hux commands, dignity too far lost to stir up even the slightest twinge of embarrassment as he fumbles his jodhpur fastenings shut again.

“Cowardice is unbecoming of you,” Ren replies, a little stab in return for his dissatisfaction.

“ _Now_ , Ren.”

There’s a long, tense moment between them where Hux hasn’t the slightest idea what Ren is thinking. But just as his anxiety crests, Ren finally says aloud, “Door, open.”

Hux feels a change of air pressure behind him and takes a quick step back, pivoting on his heel, already strolling briskly down the hall. No one is out there to see him, but he still feels horribly exposed. Flushed, at the very least, although he knows that’ll wear off once he manages to collect himself again.

As he makes his way toward his own quarters, he reflects on the fact that Ren ultimately decided to let him go. It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the universe to consolidate Ren’s loyalty to him, but there are still too many unknowns for him to be confident in an endeavour such as this. The most pressing matter, next to the aggressiveness with which Ren conquers anything set before him, is Ren’s conviction to his delusion. It’s a confusing matter, but hopefully one Hux can figure out how to address before this whole thing develops into a serious problem between them.

Although it isn’t until he finally lies down for the night that he realizes his little slip-up the other day was actually just the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ren's a little jerk who hasn't gotten some in a long time. 
> 
> Hux, of course, is just so done with him right now.


	5. Apogee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay behind this update. I signed up for the kylux valentine's fic exchange and only just completed my assignment this week. I've returned to my regular writing schedule now. Thank you so much for your kind words and patience.

_“Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.”_

― Richard Lovelace

~***~

When Hux returns to his quarters, he pulls out the small tool kit stashed under his bed and settles down at his desk in the corner. A cursory look at the concealed blade strapped to his wrist tells him the damage Ren dealt to its release mechanism is irreparable. He’ll need to replace it entirely.

Irritably, he tears off the armlet and tosses it down harder than he probably should. In the corner of his eye, the light from his desk lamp slowly blinds him. He can feel a migraine coming on.

After a moment, he pulls up his datapad and sends out a request for the necessary parts. Then he continues to stew in silence.

He’s tempted to drink, but he doesn’t indulge much in spirits beyond the occasional celebratory toast. His father used to drink. Not excessively, but he was more of a beast when he’d gotten too deep into the bottle. There were things he’d done that Hux in such a state that Hux could only assume his father would never even consider while sober.

Absently, Hux tongues the inside of his cheek, tracing the faint line of an old cut. To all outside appearances, he is a man of power; inside, he’s irreversibly scarred.

Ren’s violent fancies remind Hux too much of his father’s unbridled rage. Even though Ren revealed a weakness tonight, Hux is not foolish enough to presume he can immediately exploit his co-commander’s desires. Such a thing would take precious time and cunning. His efforts might not even be rewarded. If he bends to Ren’s whim, the Knight could easily assume he’d be free to lord over Hux in every aspect of their current partnership. Ren has already demonstrated that he puts no one’s wants or needs above his own. He has little to no incentive to change.

Hux closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In just under eight hours, he will have to stand before the Supreme Leader and explain how a droid was able to elude capture. Ren, he already knows, will take no responsibility whatsoever for this failure.

He takes a few minutes to consider what he will say to Snoke and then rises from his seat. He removes his uniform with care and slips into his usual cotton sleep shirt and pants, then turns off the desk lamp and dims the baseboard lights to 5%. Trying to put his mind at ease, he finally crawls into bed.

His heart races as soon as his head hits the pillow.

A fear like this has only gripped him once before, back when Kylo Ren joined the First Order and spitefully informed Snoke that Luke Skywalker was dead. Untrue as that turned out to be, Hux once considered the terror of losing his old friend to be unparalleled. Now…stars, he doesn’t know how to describe it. His skin feels clammy and cold. He can taste bile on the back of his tongue. He never planned for a contingency like this.

He sits up and leans back against the headboard of his bed until the nausea passes. He takes a deep breath. Then another. He’s made it this far with Ren hovering over his shoulder. Just a few more cycles and Hux might be able to get himself out of here before this issue escalates beyond his control.

It takes a while for General Organa to reach out for him. When his mind slips into her dreamscape, the first thing he senses is a cool hand pressed against his brow. He appears to be lying on the chaise longue; Organa is perched on a separate chair beside him. She looks remarkably peaceful, all things considered.

“Are you in immediate danger?” she asks, marginally worried she’s pulled him under at an inconvenient time.

“Not quite,” he breathes, pushing himself up. The room feels too bright, his skin too snug for his bones. Is he mudding up the connection with his anxiety? “Your agent was able to escape to Jakku. The droid was stolen away on some old freighter by a rogue stormtrooper, but I don’t know if Dameron is presently with him.”

“I’ve already been in contact with Poe,” she replies. This explains her serene composure. “He doesn’t know what happened to the droid or your rogue stormtrooper. Can you keep us updated on its whereabouts, assuming the First Order is able to track it?”

“Of course.” Perhaps he can use this as an opportunity to distract Ren, to send him on a wild goose-chase, preferably one which the Knight will deem necessary to undertake alone, prideful child that he is. “I don’t know if this would help, but perhaps you should contact your allies and ask them to report false sightings of the freighter.”

The corner of her lip quirks in good humor. “Gladly. What kind of freighter is it? Does it have any distinguishing marks?”

“I only know the model, I’m afraid.” He frowns in concentration, trying to remember what Lt. Hakan told him earlier. “But I think it’s old enough that any speculated sighting would be cause for further investigation. It’s a Corellian YT model freighter, I believe.”

Surprise flashes first across Organa’s face, chased quickly by a wiry kind of amusement. She licks her lip unconsciously as she stares out the balcony windows, fighting back a smile.

It’s been a while since Hux has seen her in such good humor. She’s practically glowing. “You know the ship?” he asks.

“Do I ever,” she chuckles. She reaches over to pat the back of Hux’s hand fondly. “That ship once belonged to Han Solo.”

 _Oh_ … He thought the description sounded familiar. “Do you think your husband orchestrated this somehow?”

“Stars, _no_!” Her laughter, rarity that it is, is utterly charming. He can almost feel it reverberating in his chest, no doubt a side effect of their connection. “Knowing him, he’s just lost track of his blasted ship. He’s always losing track of things...”

A touch of sadness slips into those last few words. She schools her features into a more neutral expression, suddenly seeming to remember herself.

Hux feels bad for asking. Her good mood brightened his own, however briefly.

“Is there anything else you need to discuss?” she continues.

Hux considers telling her about Ren, but he dances deftly over the thought. He will save that for last, if he can stomach it. Instead, he pursues the other bane of his existence at the moment: “I would like to know how High Command wants me to proceed with Hosnian situation.”

Organa takes a deep breath. “We are in agreement that a fatal malfunction is the preferable course of action.” He begins to nod, but she raises a finger to stop him. “ _However_ …we _also_ agree that you are too valuable an asset to lose with the base.”

Hux sighs. This deliberation, of course, will complicate matters.

“Shut up,” she murmurs even though he hasn’t said anything. Organa squeezes his hand, hard, as though she’s afraid he’ll pull away. “High Command is aware we’ve only skimmed the surface of what you know about the First Order—and personally, _I_ don’t want you to die for admittedly selfish reasons.” Something clenches inside his chest at her admission. “In exactly one cycle, we’ll have someone installed at _Starkiller_ base. Once they’ve assessed the situation, I’ll let you know who they are and how we plan on getting you out.”

Hux gently squeezes her hand in return. He’s been bracing himself for the possibility of a fiery death, and though such an eventuality is still possible, it feels good to hope.

“At long last, we’ll meet in person,” she continues softly. “You can finally rest, Armitage.”

Rest…

_Rest._

Hux feels weak at the prospect.

But there’s something he’d almost forgot about hope: that it’s occasionally crueler than despair by virtue of the monstrous chasm it leaves in its passing. Such a chasm overwhelms Hux now as he remembers how Ren’s recent behaviour has further complicated his plans.

“General?” Organa probes, loosening her grip on his hand. “Are you alright?”

“I have…” He pauses to clear his throat as anxiety creeps up on him again. “I have a new dilemma.”

Organa’s brow furrows with concern. “Is it…I mean, do you want me have a look?” She gestures to his head, offering to glimpse the problem firsthand much in the way Luke used to.

Hux rises to his feet, letting her hand slip away from his. He would rather die than have her suffer such an indignity. “ _No_ , please…I think your son has formed a sort of attachment to me.” He pauses again to compose himself. “We will need to cut the frequency our of our meetings down. After I speak with Snoke tomorrow, he will probably inform me how soon he wishes me to test the weapon. I would like to relay that information to you during my next sleep cycle. Then, perhaps, we’ll meet just once more to iron out the finer details of your agent’s extraction plan.”

She nods in understanding, worry and damnable hope warring against one another in her eyes. Just as he feared, she quietly presses for more information. “An…attachment?”

He knows she’s yearning for a sign that her son is still… _human_. That he is still capable of love.

But Hux has nothing of the sort to offer her.

Shame burns at the back his throat. He steps out onto the balcony, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s purely physical, General.”

He can almost feel the crushing weight of her disillusionment. Perhaps a little foolishly, he tries to lighten the blow. “But he spoke of compassion,” he quickly adds, turning back. He almost wishes he hadn’t. She looks so old and worn out now. “I think…I think he missed it. If he’s yearning for companionship, then perhaps he still has the capacity for love. For forgiveness.”

She looks down and away. Hux thinks he might’ve eased away a little of her pain with his elaboration as she slowly nods, fingering the brown and black bead bracelet around her wrist. Hux has long since wondered if it was a gift from her son.

“Be that as it may,” she says slowly, lifting her head to stare him in the eye. She looks colder now. Resolute. “You are not to suffer for my son’s decisions in life. If you can prevent such a connection from further developing, then, for your own safety, I would encourage you to do so. I know how unstable he can be.”

He’s secretly relieved she isn’t looking to use him to sway her son back to the Light. If such a thing were possible. All the same, he knows how concerned she is for Ren. She still loves the bastard, despite everything.

“Very well,” he says. “Then I will leave you with one last thought: your son despises the success _Starkiller_ has brought my waking self. As such, he rarely, if ever, travels with me to the base. Therefore, I am quite confident he will remain aboard the _Finalizer_ during the testing period.”

And well away from the explosion.

As he suspected, a tentative ease settles over her. She’s not signing Ren’s death warrant with her approval of Hux’s plans and this obviously brings her a small amount of comfort.

Even as she attempts to bring the universe crumbling down upon Ren’s head, she will always be his mother.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Please, be careful.”

He bows his head to her.

All at once, the illusion fades and he is returned to the _Finalizer_.

Slumped as he is against the headboard, he takes a moment to arch his back and stretch out the kink in his neck before he slips back under the covers of his bed. In the dim light, he hums his little tune and rests.

~***~

Snoke, predictably, is not pleased.

Hux had anticipated as much and is therefore already braced for the mounting pressure inside his head. He’s balanced precariously on the precipice of pain before Snoke relinquishes his hold. Hux sways momentarily on his feet when the sensation fades. Beside him, Ren is also forced to adjust his stance.

Snoke’s hologram looms over them, his eyes cold and pitiless, two black holes boring into their minds. _“The droid will soon be delivered to the Resistance, leading them to the last Jedi.”_ His voice echoes throughout the chamber. Hux can feel it vibrating down through his knees _“If Skywalker returns, the new Jedi will rise.”_

Hux was unaware Luke Skywalker was once again on the prowl for students.

He wonders if that upsets Ren at all, knowing he can be so easily replaced.

Since Ren remains silent in the face of his master’s anger—as Hux knew he would be—Hux takes this opportunity to lead the conversation. Not because he wants to, but because he knows he needs to if he’s to make any headway in his own plans. “Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility—”

 _“General!”_ Snoke roars, rising from his throne.

Hux counts backward from 10 inside his head, jaw tensing, calculating when best to proceed anew. He has never, in all his life, given up on a fight. He simply waits. Then lunges with renewed vigor.

Thinking him subdued, Snoke stares off into the middle distance, presently too concerned with their predicament to contemplate an appropriate punishment for either of them. But Hux knows if he waits too long, Snoke will eventually come back around to that. _“Our strategy must now change…”_

Sensing an opening, Hux dives back into the fray. “The weapon,” he offers. “It is ready. I believe the time has come to use it.”

In the periphery of his vision, Ren inclines his masked face toward him, still as silent as the graver. Honestly, Hux doesn’t know what he’s thinking right now. If he had to guess, he’d say Ren is probably still incensed about yesterday.

Pushing _Starkiller’s_ agenda forward obviously isn’t going to endear the Knight to him any further.

Undeterred, Hux continues. “We shall destroy the government that supports the Resistance—the Republic.” He and Snoke have already discussed something along the lines of this plan once before, but it helps to remind the Supreme Leader that they share the same goals. “Without their friends to protect them, the Resistance will be vulnerable. We will stop them before they reach Skywalker.”

As he speaks, Snoke slowly lowers himself back into his seat, his bout of apoplexy seemingly drawn to an end. Intuitively, Hux knows the Supreme Leader has a yearning for destruction, for the screaming absence in the Force that will undoubtedly follow a genocide of this magnitude. To him, the annihilation of the Hosnian system can’t come soon enough.

Hux feels much the same way.

As predicted, he’s told Snoke exactly what he wanted to hear. _“Go,”_ the Supreme Leader says quietly, nodding his agreement. _“Oversee preparations.”_  

Triumph settles warmly beneath his breast.

Hux glances at Ren, waiting for some sign of retaliation. Ren inclines his head toward Hux again but says nothing.

That warmth spreads a little further.

Hux pivots on his heel and marches to the door.

Behind him, Snoke continues his conversation with his apprentice. _“There has been an awakening…Have you felt it?”_

All that Hux hears before he slips out into the corridor is a hesitant _“Yes”_ from Ren.

He folds his hands behind his back, fighting down a smile as he strolls to the command bridge. He mulls briefly over Snoke’s comment to his co-commander along the way, wondering if the Supreme Leader has found another Force-user for the Knights of Ren. But Hux doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the thought for long. Lt. Hakan salutes him as he reaches the bridge. Hux orders him to change their course for the _Starkiller_ base.

“Do you have anything to report?” Hux inquires after the Lieutenant has relayed his command to the other officers. Mitaka, it appears, is still out of commission.

“The stolen freighter was spotted in the Malte system, sir.” Lt. Hakan pulls up a map on his datapad and turns it over to Hux. Amongst the 3D constellation of stars and planets is a glowing representation of one of their insurgent-class Star Destroyers and its support ships. “The _Ravager_ is currently investigating the report.”

“Who reported it?”

“A merchant ship on Faltesen, sir.”

Wonderful as that seems, Hux is not so easy to fool. His lip curls into something of a sneer. “When we posted a notice for the freighter, did we include a monetary reward for information?”

“No, sir.”

“Then tell Major Avon to interrogate everyone aboard that vessel,” he instructs as he hands back the datapad. “They probably have ties to the Resistance. In fact, don’t trust anything that isn’t relayed to us through one of our own outposts. Now is not the time for distractions.”

Hakan salutes him again and marches off to relay that command to the _Ravager_. Hux is almost tempted to put such a reward out for the freighter, but he knows the number of false sightings would only sky-rocket. Some people would do just about anything for a few units, no matter the danger it would put them in with the First Order.

It will take them a few cycles to reach the _Starkiller_ base from their current position, so Hux double-checks how long they have until they arrive at next fueling station before he braces himself for a long shift in front of the viewport. One of his Lieutenants steals his attention every so often, but otherwise he is left in relative peace.

Soon, he’ll show the Supreme Leader what he’s really capable of.

A few hours into alpha-shift, he notices a considerable drop in the volume of conversation around him. The atmosphere turns almost glacial. Lt. Hakan, who had been working quietly on his datapad nearby, suddenly makes himself scarce.

Hux doesn’t need to turn around to know Ren has entered the command bridge.

Ren’s dark figure is partially reflected in the transparisteel panel before Hux as he walks the length of the bride to the central viewport. Hux’s first thought at the sight of him is his ruined monomolecular blade. His wrist feels naked without it.

Hux glances at the reflection of Ren’s masked face before he gazes at the stars beyond it. He says nothing.

 _“Congratulations, General,”_ Ren says, voice pitched higher than usual with derision. He stops at Hux’s right elbow, close enough that he can try to incite the General without an audience. _“For your sake, I hope your toy truly impresses the Supreme Leader.”_

“Toy?” Hux inquires softly, finally turning his head to address his co-commander. His gaze flickers briefly to the lightsaber clipped to Ren’s waist. “ _Starkiller_ will end more lives in a single blast than you could _ever_ hope to cut down between now and the end of your days.” He shifts his gaze back to the stars. “And it _will_ work—unless, of course, you would like to confess to sabotage?”

 _“I would never dream of it,”_ Ren replies, although whether he’s referring to sabotaging _Starkiller_ or confessing to any such crime is unclear.

“Of course not,” Hux scoffs. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. As soon as they reach the fueling station, he’ll leave the bridge and work on his reports. There’s a mountain of paperwork waiting for him in his quarters. “Your rogue freighter was spotted in the Malte system earlier this shift. I imagine it’s a ruse given how far that is from Jakku.”

_“A Corellian YT-1300f light freighter could manage a trip like that in this time.”_

“Then you’re more than welcome to follow up on the report,” Hux mutters. Quietly, he hopes Ren decides to do just that.

Unfortunately, Ren is not that stupid. _“I’ll hold off for more details.”_

“As you wish, Lord Ren.”

Hux is waiting for Knight to saunter off now, perhaps destroy yet another piece of valuable equipment, but instead he lingers like the plague.

He realizes Ren has more to say, although he doesn’t understand why the man doesn’t just spit it out already. The answer to his question comes soon enough though when Lt. Hakan suddenly appears at his other side. 

“The _Ravager_ has reported that a member of the merchant ship admitted to falsifying the sighting, sir.”

 _Damn_ , Hux thinks. Out loud, he says, “Keep me informed if Major Avon determines how the merchants received the order to falsify such a report.” Once Hakan wanders off again, Hux turns back to Ren. “If the Resistance is trying to draw our attention elsewhere, the freighter obviously hasn’t reached them yet.”

 _“It’s a notorious ship,”_ Ren replies. _“If anyone…‘_ disreputable’ _makes a report, take their word for it.”_  

Hux doesn’t understand the reasoning behind that suggestion, but he isn’t about to question it. He has better things to do with his time than argue with the man.

Ren, on the other hand, clearly doesn’t. In fact, the first words out of his mouth once the Lieutenant is no longer within earshot are: _“Would you care to explain why you left last night?”_

Hux knows better than to rise to the bait, but he still bristles at the accusation. “I am _not_ a coward,” he snarls.

_“I’m not calling you a coward.”_

“You said as much before.” Internally, Hux would like nothing more than to beat another hasty retreat, but his pride is wounded, and he doesn’t want to give Ren the satisfaction of thinking he’s right. “I’m not a whore _either_. If you find yourself in desperate need of companionship, you can satisfy your urges at a brothel like any normal human being.”

 _“You think sex is beneath you,”_ Ren says.

Hux is momentarily stunned by how dangerously close he is to the truth. Admittedly, Hux has a habit of only engaging in sex when there’s something he knows can gain from it, although he would probably do it for recreational purposes if he had a partner he could trust.

 _Ren_ is last the man in the universe he could ever trust.

Least of all because Ren is reading his mind again.

“How _dare_ you,” he seethes, dangerously close to raising his voice. Remembering where he is, he takes a second to compose himself before he continues. “This is an inappropriate topic of conversation for the bridge. Or anywhere, really. What I do in my spare time—and with _whom_ —is none of your goddamn business.”

 _“There is nothing to fear in passion,”_ Ren continues, utterly undeterred. He sounds dangerously close to dipping into his usual Dark Side philosophies, which Hux knows he clings to with a kind of fanaticism that is truly horrifying. _“Rather, there is much you have yet to learn from it.”_

Hux momentarily entertains the thought of sinking his monomolecular blade into Ren’s throat. Then he remembers he doesn’t have it anymore, which only serves to rankle him further.

“This discussion is over,” he snaps. “Do _not_ speak to me in this manner ever again.”

Ren clenches his hands into fists. Then he stands very still, as though bracing himself to hit Hux.

Alarmed as he is at the prospect of getting decked right there on the bridge, Hux stands his ground.

Thankfully, Ren has enough sense not to make a scene. He turns sharply from the viewport and stalks toward the exit, men and women scrambling out of his way. Hux can see more than a few pale-faced officers exchanging furtive glances with one another as he passes.

Hux doesn’t realize he’s curled his own hands into fists until Ren disappears into the corridor. The tension between his shoulder blades has also returned. He feels like he swallowed a stone.

Whatever Ren is trying to do here, Hux needs to put an end to it. And quickly. He doesn’t think he can handle the embarrassment of requesting Snoke’s intervention if this situation spirals out of his control. He doesn’t need the Supreme Leader to think him _weak_ if he admits that he can no longer function under Ren’s harassment.

He shouldn’t _have_ to put up with this sort of harassment, but that’s besides the point. Ren is Ren. Really the only way to deal with him is to increase the distance between them.

Troubled as he is by his co-commander’s shameful behavior, Hux turns back to the viewport in the hopes of clearing his mind. But the stars do nothing for him now. They simply wink at him. Coyly.

Quietly, he yearns to consume them all.

~***~

After he spends what feels like a small eternity glaring out the viewport, Hux retreats to his quarters to look over his other reports. It’s tedious work but it allows him to step out of his mind, if only for a short while. There are a few issues that require his undivided attention and he gladly submits it to them.

Once he’s done for the shift, he picks up the armlet for his monomolecular blade and turns it over in his hands. He was hoping someone would’ve delivered the parts to his quarters before he returned, but it’s possible his engineering staff were confused by the request. After all, nobody really knows about the blade. Which, of course, is all a part of its charm. The only people who knew he carried such a weapon didn’t live long enough past the discovery to share that information with anyone else.

A wave of fatigue washes over him suddenly.

He glances at the digital clock on his datapad. It’s the start of his off-shift. Practically on the dot.

He finds it curious how eerily accurate his internal clock can occasionally be, but he doesn’t fight the exhaustion that seeps into his bones. He dresses down for the night and slips under the covers of his bed, trying not to think of Ren as he drifts away.

General Organa, of course, is already waiting for him.

He enters the dreamscape on the imaginary balcony. Organa stands at the railing beside him, waiting for his report. She looks like she’s in a much better state than the one he left her in earlier.

“We’re heading directly to the base,” he says. “Theoretically, it takes half a shift to extinguish a star, and I will likely give a speech to the First Order prior to firing the weapon. I won’t sleep until the Hosnian system is annihilated.”

She nods in understanding. “You need me to pull you under once you get there.”

“Yes. Does the tracker on the _Finalizer_ still work for you?”

“Of course.”

“After my ship reaches the base, wait exactly one hour before pulling me under. I will have sequestered myself in my quarters by then. I don’t like to be disturbed before a speech.”

Organa quirks an eyebrow at him. “Do you give rousing speeches, General?”

Hux shakes his head. “They’re utter drivel.”

She laughs at his open honesty. He would join her, but his stomach has suddenly turned completely in on itself as the significance of what he’s about to do sinks in again.

In exactly three cycles, he’ll be free.

Or dead.

He grips the railing with both hands, trying to remember how to breathe. Which is ridiculous, in a sense, because he isn’t really here, standing, breathing, talking.

Organa touches his arm gently, all too aware what the stress of this situation is doing to him. “Hang in there. You’re almost done.”

He nods. He’s almost done. But how long has it been now? Eleven years? More or less, he supposes.

He’s been dying inside for eleven years.

Faintly, Organa’s voice drifts to him over the creeping fringe of his anxiety. “Luke would be proud.”

Luke.

Thinking of Luke helps a little. Hux understands how devastated the man must be for failing his nephew, but he wishes Luke knew he still succeeded in other ways. Hux wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for him. Together, he and Leia are about to cripple the First Order beyond repair. This is all Luke’s doing.

Nausea completely blindsides him for a moment. He grips the railing a little harder. He’s already had one panic attack this cycle. He doesn’t understand why he can’t just get over it already.

He’s not going to fail. He’s not going to die.

He’s going to be free.

“Armitage,” Organa says, but she sounds so very far away. “Armitage, breathe.”

But he is breathing. He thinks.

He needs to lie down.

Or he needs to wake up.

Hux releases his hold on the railing and turns away from the setting sun, trying to stamp down his vertigo. This is a mistake. He collapses to the ground instead. Organa quickly kneels beside him to keep him sitting upright.

Is he really here? Did he fall asleep?

“Have you been poisoned?” Organa asks, alarmed. Hux once took a sedative after a particularly grueling and prolonged battle against the Resistance. That had caused him a whole _world_ of trouble in the dreamscape; Hux had been half-convinced he was buried alive. Organa was forced to cut their meeting short for the fear of him suffocating in his sleep.

But he doesn’t feel quite that way now, and he doesn’t remember taking a sedative anyway. He also doesn’t know when someone might’ve had the opportunity to poison him. He was absolutely fine up until he went to bed.

This must be a nightmare then.

Which _must_ be true, because he can’t see anything inside Organa’s imaginary office. There’s nothing there. _Nothing_. Just an all-consuming darkness.

And yes, he does need to lie down to wake up. He only hums that lovely little tune to put himself back inside the box.

Stop asking, please. Next question.

“ _Hux_!”

He winces. She sounds so _loud_ now right next to his ear.

The universe tilts precariously to one side. She curls an arm around his shoulders to steady him and then she screams at him. He just can’t hear what she’s saying.

There’s a mounting pressure inside his head.

Suddenly, with terrifying clarity, he realizes what’s going on.

He wakes with a gasp.

Chest heaving, he lies there in the semi-darkness, hoping the nausea passes before his stomach decides to act on it. He feels as though there are pins and needles all over his body. He’s covered in a cold sweat. His heart thunders frantically against his ribs.

There’s a hand pressed against the side of his face, a thumb stroking his cheek with deceptive care. Kylo Ren is leaning over him, expressionless.

He studies Hux with his dark, dark eyes.

“Clever,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, now is definitely the time to panic.


	6. Rearrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this took so long. I was going to post this last weekend, but the wife took a look at it and convinced me to cut it off a little farther along than I initially intended. You have her to thank for a slightly longer chapter this time around.
> 
> Just as a reminder, flashbacks are preceded by the “~*8*8*8*~” divider, whereas regular scene changes in present time are preceded by “~***~”.

_“Never open the door to a lesser evil, for other and greater ones invariably slink in after it_.”

― Baltasar Gracián

“~*8*8*8*~”

If empathy was Luke’s first gift to Armitage Hux, a newfound respect for the complexity of the human psyche would be his second.

Hux always marveled at the intricacy of Luke’s imagination. Every whisper of the wind, every twitch of the foliage around him brought the forest to greater life. It was the spitting image of the world they once occupied for what seemed like a too-short period in Hux’s youth, a living memory of one of the more peaceful times in his pitiful existence. This clarity hinted directly at Luke’s mastery of the mind, of his ability to draw Hux so far down into himself that he could sit on the beach beside the lake and play chess against Leia Organa, wholly convinced of the illusion, while barely being aware of the way in which Luke was scrutinizing his thoughts nearby.

Luke gave the impression of being at ease as he strolled up and down the stretch of sand, pausing every now and again to stare out across the water. In truth, he was helping Hux bury the horrors of what he’d seen today: a small village razed to the ground, all men and women burned alive as their children were torn from their loving arms. Major Vicor had led the attack from the safety of an AT-AT, commenting often on the mounting success of Hux’s stormtrooper program; Hux’s waking self had simply smiled at him and said nothing, thinking irritably of how long the seizure was taking.

When he returned to his lucid state later that evening, Hux promptly rolled out of bed and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Difficult as it was, he could almost handle hurting men and woman. But children? It drove him mad thinking of their tear-streaked faces, of their shrill cries drifting up over the burning husks of their families. They were small and innocent. Not one of them deserved the horrors heaped upon them with this unprecedented attack.

He was only able to inform Organa of the raids scheduled for the neighboring villages so that an evacuation could be set in motion before he surrendered to his emotions. He became inconsolable. Their connection wavered. Organa was forced to call upon Luke to set him to rights again.

This had happened before, of course. In fact, this was far from the first instance in which Hux failed to cope with the atrocities his waking self dragged out from the deepest recesses of his mind. And, as always, Luke would task Hux with consciously occupying himself with some activity that required a significant deal of concentration as he took those offending memories and cast them back into the darkness. The implicit aspect of those memories remained, the knowledge that a town was razed to the ground and its children were conscripted into a senseless war, but Hux no longer remembered being there to experience the attack. The living nightmare had been transformed into something akin to a written report, one which still horrified him, but more as a member of the audience to this tragedy rather than a willing participant of the battle itself.

All the same, Hux found his mind creeping back to the children now. He could no longer see their faces nor hear their screams, but he remembered how many were taken and where they were shipped. If he was careful, he could almost—

“It’s a nice idea,” Luke said suddenly. He slowed his pace and glanced down at Hux, hands folded together behind his back. He had the air of a kind, if somewhat sombre, schoolmaster. “But can you do it without getting caught?” he queried, tilting his head curiously to one side.

Hux glanced back down at the small wooden board and handcrafted playing pieces in the sand beside him. He tried to determine how Organa’s most recent move might’ve upset his current plan of action instead of allowing himself to fall victim to his need to devise some form of retribution against Major Vicor. Because Luke, as always, was right.

There was nothing he could about it now without getting caught.

“A one-man rescue mission would be futile,” Organa murmured softly, a touch of sadness in her voice. “You’ve given us more than enough information to prevent another attack, so leave the rest to us, please.”

He nodded. He didn’t like to ruminate on the fact he was so utterly powerless to the whims of his waking self, but he had to keep his focus on the bigger picture here. Especially now that he was in a position to help the Resistance in a more significant way.

He’d received word a few cycles ago that he was going to be promoted to General soon.

He also received word that one of Snoke’s apprentices was supposed to assist him with an upcoming mission on Crelos, although he was still waiting on information pertaining to what exactly their mission was and when it would occur.

Luke, who’d turned away momentarily to skip a small flat stone across the surface of the lake, glanced back down at him. “Apprent _ices_? As in plural?”

Hux moved his knight across the board and shrugged. “Supposedly. No one in the First Order has met them. In fact, I had no idea he had _any_ acolytes until a few years ago.”

Luke turned away to skip another stone, lost in thought. Organa, meanwhile, moved her Empress and smiled coyly at Hux.

Hux sighed, eyeing all the other pieces on the board. He never seemed to win against her, even when his mind wasn’t being picked apart by Luke. “Checkmate, I see.”

She reached across the board to pat him affectionately on the knee. “I need to go, General. Take care.”

He nodded and glanced away as she shimmered out of existence. He half expected Luke to end their session right then and there, but the man was still staring across the lake, rolling another stone over and over again in his right hand.

“Something on your mind?” Hux asked quietly, not wanting to pry.

Luke glanced over at Organa’s empty spot on the sand and decided to deposit himself in her place. He stared out at the calm waters for a while longer, elbows braced against his knees, still clutching that ovoid stone. Then he said, “I’m worried about my nephew.”

Luke was always worried about his nephew from what Hux could tell. But today he looked quite downtrodden, like he was finally admitting defeat to something.

“What about him has you worried?” Hux asked, although he already knew the whole reason Luke took Ben Solo on as a student was to help the boy find peace with himself. Ben, apparently, was too hotheaded and brash for his own good. Impatient, occasionally. At times, even uncaring.

But this was all that Hux could surmise from the offhanded comments he’d heard from either Luke or his sister. So far as Hux could tell, Ben was just another problem child who refused to be tamed.

Luke sighed, staring down at the stone in his hand. “He joined my school when he was very young because he’d have these… _episodes_.”

“Like a tantrum?” Hux asked, tentative, not meaning to insult. He couldn’t really remember ever having a tantrum in his childhood. He was too terrified to act out in any way that would draw his father’s attention.

“Sometimes,” Luke shrugged, squinting as he searched for the right words. “More like periods of apathy, like he wasn’t connecting with us on an emotional level anymore. For a long time, Leia and I thought he had some kind of developmental problem. She was worried he would grow up to be a sociopath.” Luke paused here and grimaced, as though he hated having to admit that out loud. “But then…then he’d have these normal periods too. He loved his mother— _genuinely_ loved her. We could tell. The disconnect was just so _bizarre_ …I thought maybe I could help him lock that part of himself away with meditation.”

“And it’s gotten worse?”

“So much worse…” Something broke in Luke’s voice then. “After meeting you, I thought I’d figured out a way to reach inside and help him, but he’s erected this indestructible wall. He just… _doesn’t_ trust me and I don’t know why. I can hardly tell when he’s faking his emotions anymore. The only thing I _can_ believe about him now is his anger.”

A swell of heat rose up inside Hux’s chest, the vice of empathy closing in around his diaphragm.

He reached out to touch Luke’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, waiting to see if the wet gleam in his mentor’s eyes would finally give way to tears.

Luke didn’t brush him off. Just swallowed back his grief and said, “Leia’s asked me to return Ben to her. Tonight, after everyone’s asleep, I’m going to confront him and send him on his way. He has so much potential when it comes to the Force, I don’t know if I could live with myself if he used what I’ve taught him for something selfish or petty.”

“You’ve given him your all,” Hux murmured. He knew what he was saying was old news, the same old drivel anyone could dredge up to boost morale. But it still needed to be said. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, but you’re not the Maker, Luke. There’s only so much you can do for one man. Don’t take it personally.”

“It’s hard to believe that after all I’ve accomplished with you.” Luke dropped the stone into the sand between his legs and glanced over at Hux. “You were such a simple case. Why is that?”

Hux had actually spent quite some time pondering that exact same question.

He gave Luke’s shoulder one last squeeze before he dropped his hand into his lap. “I spent the entirety of my childhood wishing someone would save me. I was about ready to give up hope before I met you. I guess it was just easier for you to work your magic on me because I was so eager to let a benevolent force in.”

Of course, Rae Sloane had also saved him, in a way. The Grand Admiral had protected him as best she could from his father in his youth and had a hand in motivating him to become the hardened officer that he was today. He was a survivor solely because of her, although she also gave him the confidence to be ruthless in a way he now despised. But, he supposed, that was the price that needed to be paid to learn how to outmaneuver Brendol Hux.

“Whatever happens will happen,” Hux continued. “You control the Force, not the future, least of all that of another person. Ben Solo is a man now and he’s going to do whatever he pleases, despite your best efforts. Don’t allow yourself to imagine you could’ve done anything more for himt.”

Luke nodded. The man looked down at the sand for a while as a warm breeze blew over the lake and ruffled his hair. A part of Hux yearned to return to this place for real someday.

He would happily die here, if he could.

“Whatever happens will happen,” Luke agreed quietly. He paused for a moment and then said, “Be careful when you meet this apprentice. If they’re a Force user, you and Leia should delay your next meeting until they return to whatever shadow they crawled from.”

Hux was already of the same mind, but assured Luke anyway that he would. Then they said their goodbyes and Hux returned to life as he knew it aboard the _Finalizer_.

That was the last time he ever spoke with Luke Skywalker.

What followed their last encounter was seven cycles of complete radio silence from both Luke and Leia. At the end of this standard week, Hux received his promotion and was pulled aside for a private meeting with Snoke on the _Supremacy_. Or for what approximated as a private meeting when Hux realized there was to be a third party in attendance.

This interloper was a tall and silent man, clothed entirely in black robes like some hermitic monk from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. He smelt heavily of fire and ash. And blood. Hux caught a good whiff of it before he’d even reached the end of the bridge leading up to Snoke’s dais.

His helmet, too, was a little disconcerting, but Snoke thankfully ordered the interloper to remove it for this joint audience. The boy beneath the mask was something of a wild creature, eyes dark and sunken, his black hair a tangled mess around his pale face. He was too young and gloomy to be taken seriously, Hux thought, what with his sharp features and hollow expression. But he was obviously well-built and gave off the same sinister air as his master. He clearly wasn’t someone to be trifled with, someone who didn’t play by anyone’s rules but his own. In fact, he stared at Hux for an uncomfortably long stretch beyond their initial introduction, as though he didn’t understand common social constraints and how insolent his behaviour was, a notion that was somehow more ominous to Hux than the prevailing scent of blood.

Hux shuddered at the intensity of that stare and tried to hide his reaction by adjusting his great coat.

The boy, Snoke explained, was his new apprentice. He would first assist Hux on Crelos and then remain aboard the _Finalizer_ thereafter as the General’s co-commander, his _equal_ , to be treated with the same dignity and respect as any other high-ranking officer of the First Order. For this was Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, and the slayer of the last of the Jedi—including his own uncle, the legendary Luke Skywalker.

Hux had initially bristled at the prospect of finding an _equal_ in this child, but reluctantly accepted Snoke’s order in the end. There was nothing he could really do to dispute it anyway. He would simply have to ensure Kylo Ren was provided every possible resource he would need to operate well out of Hux’s way. After all, a little distance had gone a long way in maintaining several shaky alliances throughout history.

Of course, Hux didn’t understand the true severity of this situation until later that night. Luke and Leia’s prolonged silence finally made sense to him. One of them was grieving; the other was dead.

Hux grieved too. Losing Luke hit him harder than killing his father had. He’d never felt so alone before. So afraid. He was set adrift in a rudderless boat in a stormy sea. All around him was the cold sting of darkness and a creeping madness, slowly closing in on him, pull him further into the gloom.

He knew it wouldn’t be long before he too was lost for good.

~***~

The fact that he makes it six years beyond the point of losing contact with Luke is therefore something of a marvel.

Hux tries to focus on that not-too-insignificant accomplishment as he lies prone beneath Kylo Ren, trying to match his co-commander’s impassive stare with one of his own. But it’s difficult, least of all because he can hear the blood rushing in his ears; can feel his heart pounding in his throat. His saliva is thick in his mouth, his tongue is dry, and his teeth are clenched so tightly together his jaw aches.

He swallows to relieve the pressure, but that only draws Ren’s attention to his throat. Those dark eyes flicker down to his larynx as it bobs, seemingly transfixed.

“You—” Hux tries to say.

“Don’t,” Ren hisses. The hand against his face slips down his cheek, thumb gracing the corner of his lips before it continues onward to his throat. It rests there, not yet squeezing. Ren’s skin is warm against his frantic pulse. “Don’t speak.”

Hux is powerless to do anything but obey.

Ren shifts subtly where he sits beside Hux’s left hip, eyes traveling between his throat and his face and back again. Then softly he hums a single note.

Hux tenses.

It’s the first note of his tune.

Ren looks away at last, staring at some imaginary point on the wall above Hux’s head, although he keeps his hand where it is. “That was my mother’s song,” he says, his voice as flat and heavy as lead. Hux wonders if he’s in shock. “Did she set this whole thing up or was she only helping Luke?”

“She didn’t—”

“Don’t _speak_ ,” Ren seethes, finally tightening his grip. Not hard enough to cut off his air flow, but Hux still reaches up on impulsive to grab Ren by the wrist. Ren stares down at him again, pupils blown wide with some unspeakable emotion. “Picture it, the process you went through to develop this duplicity. If you try to hide anything from me, I’ll tear your mind asunder.”

Hux has seen Ren’s handiwork. Knows it’s futile to resist. So he closes his eyes and he thinks about it—the crash and his first meeting with Luke; the slow healing process, both on the outside and within; the dream of freedom and its subsequent sacrifice in exchange for his willful confinement in the First Order. It all comes back to him like a flood, a miasma of color and light dancing before his eyes, the passage of these treasured memories eased by Ren’s own influence. Their emotions too, the grief and anger and happiness and hope. The sensation of being _alive_.

“Why?” Ren asks, either out loud or inside his head, he doesn’t know. And it doesn’t matter. Hux’s mind immediately wanders back to the day he spent sitting on his cot, razor in hand, pondering his life as his father’s son. It was the first time he’d felt any real emotion beyond what was afforded to him as a brainwashed lacky of the First Order; it hit him like a durasteel wall and precipitated the birth of the newest part of himself:

Sorrow.

Hux opens his eyes.

Ren’s brow furrows and his face twitches in confusion. “Luke said he had another student.” Ren’s expression crumples a little further, this time in pain. “He never said it was a Null…Of all the people in the universe, how could it possibly be _you_?”

Hux wasn’t Luke’s student. Not really. Although, he supposes, in some small way he probably he was…

Though he occasionally thought of Luke as a mentor, he considered the man more as a friend.

“He’s not,” Ren whispers, loosening his grip. He digs his thumb gently into the pulse point under the jut of Hux’s chin and then releases the pressure. Does it again, eyes focused on that delicate spot. His voice deepens, as though he’s lost in thought. “He’s not your friend. He’s not anybody’s friend. I could spend an eternity explaining how wrong you are in thinking otherwise.”

“He’s a good man,” Hux says, consequences bedamned. His voice sounds small to him, but the message he delivers is anything but.

“He isn’t,” Ren snarls, the corner of his lip curling like a rabid dog’s. “He made _me_. What do you suppose that really says about him?”

Oddly enough, this childish outburst brings Hux a moment of clarity and calm. He knows Ren is stuck in his ways, that he’s an exceptionally angry and arrogant individual who can’t be reasoned with.

Ren’s slanderous claims won’t convince Hux of anything.

This moment of calm does wonders for him. His heart is still racing, but he realizes, in some unfathomably detached way, that he is ready to die now. He was expressly kept from learning anything of importance regarding the Resistance to spare him the pain of relinquishing that information in a situation such as this, and so there is nothing he has left to lose. He’s spent the better part of his life undermining the First Order, and, as such, will be executed as a traitor, either by Ren’s hand or under a rain of fire from his very own stormtroopers.

For once, the future is crystal clear to him.

“I don’t have the time to explain the depths of his deception,” Ren continues, voice oddly flat again, almost conversational. “And I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why not?” Hux asks, wondering what reason Ren could possibly have to spare his life. In fact, given their strained relationship, Ren has every reason to do just the opposite. This would be a wasted opportunity for him otherwise.

“I have a use for you.”

“Whatever it is,” Hux breathes, finally mustering the courage to tug Ren’s hand away from his throat, “I refuse. Kill me and be done with it.”

“You won’t refuse this,” Ren replies. The corner of his lip quirks again, an almost manic gleam shining in his eyes as he presses his hand into the pillow beside Hux’s head. It forces Ren to lean farther forward, bringing them closer together. Ren’s breath is warm against his face. “Not when it’s something you’ve already spent a little over a decade striving for.”

Confusion muddles his brain now more than the adrenaline. He remembers what his greatest overarching goal was eleven years ago, the one he realized could no longer be a reality once Kylo Ren came into the picture.

Or so he thought.

Hux tries to swallow past the dryness in his mouth. There’s no point mincing words now. “You want to me to help you kill the Supreme Leader?”

Ren doesn’t say anything. Neither does the strange delight in his eyes waver as he slowly maneuvers his hand under Hux’s pillow to remove the blaster buried there. Then he rises from the bed and takes a seat at the desk in the corner, still watching Hux, studying his reaction.

Cautiously, Hux sits up in his bed, shifting backwards to lean against the headboard. Fighting to keep his hand steady, he reaches for the glass of water on his bedside table and tips it back against his lips to quench his thirst. Inevitably, he’s forced to hold it with two hands so that he doesn’t spill it all over himself.

And still Ren watches him, seemingly amused with his own cleverness. Incensed as he was at the start of this encounter, Ren’s obviously now achieved a frame of mind capable of appreciating the hand Fate’s dealt him tonight.

Hux lowers the glass to his lap and asks the burning question on his mind: “Why?”

Ren looks down at the blaster in his hands, studying it with faux interest. He looks almost childish in the way he avoids eye-contact, so deceptive of the refined darkness brewing within. “He’s been inside my head since I was five years old,” he says softly. “I want him gone already.”

Hux leans his head back against the wall and stares up at the ceiling. He’d always known Snoke was somehow behind Ren’s unnatural aptitude in blocking Luke out, but this confession further explains why Leia had such trouble connecting with her son from the very beginning. The boy had always been under Snoke’s thrall.

Ren’s mind has been poisoned by the Dark Side for _decades_.

“Alright,” Hux says quietly, deciding he has nothing to lose in taking Ren’s confession at face value. After all, he’s certainly in no position to use that information against the other man; Ren has no reason to lie to him now. “Is Snoke aware of your desire to dispose of him?”

“No.” Slowly, Ren leans back into a more comfortable position in his chair. His quiet composure is unusual; Hux finds it deeply unsettling. “Alone, like this, I can hide it from him. But if I entertained these thoughts in his presence, he would know immediately.”

Hux is almost amused to discover he isn’t the only person who’s been playing carefully crafted and self-induced mind-games in the First Order. Almost. Fear is still screaming through his veins, dosing his brain with epinephrine. He can’t afford to be amused; can’t let his guard down, even for a moment.

“I know you’ve wanted to kill him for quite some time,” Ren continues, eyes flickering from the blaster to Hux, “but I didn’t find anything resembling a concrete plan inside your mind. Why is that?”

Hux sips his water again, thinking back on how he used to agonize over this particular issue. It was hard letting go once Luke told him to move on, to focus simply on destroying _Starkiller_ instead. “I realized early on that killing him was beyond my capabilities. Attacking him in person wouldn’t be possible, as he would be alerted to my intentions before I could act. Since he practically never leaves the _Supremacy_ , luring him into a trap was an almost equally unlikely scenario. Even so, I entertained the idea of doing just that until you came along.”

“And then you were forced to restrict your clandestine efforts to the bedroom,” Ren extrapolates. Hux tries not to squirm under his dark gaze. “How often do you sneak around the ship in this state?”

“Since we were introduced? Only once.”

Something like surprise softens Ren’s features. But only briefly. “In the hall…before the pilot escaped?”

“Yes.”

“Then the Force willed your discovery.” Ren glances down at the blaster again. Hux momentarily wonders if Ren wishes he could shoot him, but he supposes that wouldn’t be quite Ren’s style. It wouldn’t be intimate enough. “Why did you risk it then?”

“To kill or release Poe Dameron, depending on what opportunities presented themselves.”

“You didn’t want me to discover anything about the Resistance from him?”

“Precisely.”

Ren shrugs, like he can understand the logic in that. It isn’t all that often the First Order get its grimy hands on a member of the Resistance. Dameron’s escape was a hard pill for most to swallow.

Hux sips his water. Frightened though he is, he needs to move this conversation along, to better determine the nature of the trouble he’s in. “Is that why you’ve been behaving oddly toward me lately? You’ve wanted to enlist my help with Snoke for a while now?”

“In a way,” Ren replies. “I’ve always known you don’t enjoy serving under Snoke. I needed to find out if the rift between us was irreparable before I could determine whether or not you could be trusted with my plans.”

“By assaulting me?” Hux asks, his mouth moving before his brain.

The corner of Ren’s lip twitches. It almost looks like a smile. Then the man gently places the blaster rifle on the desk behind him and rises from his seat.

As Ren approaches the bed, Hux’s mind flashes back to the way the man cornered him the other night, moving slowly, almost gracefully, his long legs eating up the distance between them effortlessly. Hux locks his gaze with his nemesis and doesn’t dare look away, clutching the glass hard between his hands, the only physical barrier really left between them.

“That wasn’t planned,” Ren replies as he takes up his old spot beside Hux’s hip. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips, eyes taunting Hux, like he’s letting him in on a guilty secret. “I’ll admit, I took a fancy to you when we first met, but Snoke was quick to warn me against overstepping my boundaries. But then you _pitied_ me, and suddenly I realized there was a greater deal of complexity to you than I’d ever appreciated.”

Hux had wondered as much. He also finds it ironic that he’d been saved by someone else’s compassion years ago, only to set the stage of his demise now with his own.

“Admittedly, I was also excited by the prospect that you already knew how to shield your thoughts and emotions from a Force user, negating the need of teaching you myself,” Ren continues. “but now I think this duplicity of yours is even better.”

“How so?”

“Because what I have in mind for Snoke now hinges on your other ‘self’ not knowing what we’re up to.”

Hux’s mind immediately latches onto the concept of a personal attack, that a closer proximity to Snoke can be achieved under the guise of Hux’s waking self. No doubt, this is where Ren is going with his scheme. 

Though the gears are turning inside Hux’s head, he’s still dimly aware of the hand that slowly reaches for the glass between them. Startled, he goes completely rigid, not willing to relinquish his hold as Ren’s fingers close around the lip of the cup.

“I want to see how it works,” Ren breathes, giving it the barest tug. Then he hums, ever so softly, his voice a deep rumble in Hux’s ears.

“Don’t,” Hux whispers.

But already he can feel himself fading, slipping back into the deepest recesses of his mind. There is a great sense of tumbling, of gravity increasing and weakening in turn as he shifts from one state to the other. Suddenly, he’s situated in the wrong position. His heart is racing and he’s covered in a cold sweat.

He feels like he sprinted the length of the _Finalizer._

And yet he doesn’t know why.

Hux’s vision doubles before his brain narrows in on the fact that Kylo Ren is sitting on his bed, in the flesh and far too close for his liking. His whole body jerks in surprise, only vaguely aware of the few drops of water that land on the back of his hand as Ren deftly slips a glass away from him and onto the bedside table.

“Ren?” Hux asks, presently too baffled to string together a coherent sentence.

“Somnambulism,” Ren says, so softly Hux can barely hear him. Or perhaps Hux is simply struggling to hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

He runs a hand through his hair, further alarmed by how hard he’s shaking. It’s almost disgraceful, though he can pin part of the blame on Ren for appearing out of thin air. He wants to demand an answer, but all he can manage is a shaky, “What?”

“It’s the technical term for sleep-walking,” Ren explains, finally tearing his eyes away from the glass to look at Hux. “It’s why you didn’t remember our earlier encounter.”

Hux might be currently slow on the uptake, but once he realizes which ‘encounter’ Ren is referring to, the resulting spark of anger burns through the fog of his confusion. “That doesn’t explain all that tripe about my apparent ‘sympathy’.”

Ren shakes his head, gaze momentarily downcast, almost…apologetic. “What I sensed was nothing more than a unique cocktail of emotions presented by a sleep-addled brain. I was mistaken.”

Hux is so stunned by the confession, all he can think of to do in response is nod. Then he seems to remember the bizarre position they’re in and says, “What are you doing here?”

Ren’s gaze lifts a little, settling on Hux’s lips. “You invited me in.”

Hux blinks. “What?”

“You invited me in,” he reiterates, finally looking him in the eye again. “We’ve been having quite the conversation.”

Hux’s first impulse is to deny that, but then he remembers that he woke upright and with a glass of water in his hands, though he can’t recall the transition from fast-asleep to receiving-company. In fact, he doesn’t recall how he got on the command bridge when the Resistance pilot escaped either, only that he’d climbed into bed immediately preceding the abrupt change in scenery. If these two incidents aren’t evidence of somnambulism, he doesn’t know what is.

However, conclusive as that assumption might be, this is still very much a problem. He shouldn’t be _having_ these blackout periods. It hints that something is wrong on a neurological level, which might as well be the deathblow to his career.

He begins to panic a little again. It must show on his face, because Ren smirks at him and says, “Calm down. There’s nothing wrong with your brain. I’ve already checked.”

“Then why is this happening?” he snaps, deciding, for once, to gloss over the fact that Ren’s been inside his head again—and admitting to it, no less. Regrettably, Hux has more important things to worry about.

“Somnambulism is a consequence of sleep deprivation and stress,” Ren says, bluntly. “And that’s you all over, isn’t it?”

“I wonder why,” Hux mutters. “If you were a little more cooperative, I would have next to nothing to worry about, now wouldn’t I?”

“And I came here tonight to tell you I agree.”

Again, Hux is left momentarily speechless. He wonders if this is a trap.

Ren, sensing whatever opening he was waiting for, dips his fingers behind his belt and pulls out something small and slim wound tightly in transparent plastic wrap. As he hands it over, Hux realizes these are the parts he requested to repair his monomolecular blade.

Of course, this meagre gesture doesn’t excuse the damage Ren dealt to his weapon, but at least the man is acknowledging said damage instead of pretending it never happened, like he does most of the time.

Still cautious, Hux sets the bundle down beside his glass of water on the bedside table. Then he glances between Ren and the door, straining to remember what happened between the time he crawled into bed and now.

“Tell me what really happened,” Hux says. “You expect me to believe you simply came here to deliver my parts and then we somehow ended up having a rare but convivial conversation?” His eyes habitually glance over Ren’s shoulder at his desk—he automatically pats his pillow, surprised by what he sees. “Is that my blaster?”

“It’s been an impassioned encounter thus far,” Ren says, oddly composed.

 _How so_ , Hux wonders, not at all impressed with his answer. “Did I try to kill you?”

“No,” Ren replies, voice low, “But I felt removing your weapon was a necessary measure in preventing some unfortunate accident from occurring.”

Hux would consider pulling a successful shot off at Ren more of a wonder than an accident. He’s seen the man stop laser beams mid-air when he’s properly focused. Getting the drop on Ren while he’s fully conscious isn’t likely to occur any time soon.

But then Hux realizes that getting shot point-blank for entering his quarters uninvited wasn’t specifically Ren’s concern for the evening, as evidenced by the fact that the distance between them is rapidly diminishing. Ren is leaning forward, eyes trained on Hux’s mouth. His co-commander was probably thinking more along the lines of trying to prevent an accidental discharge during what follows next.

The kiss is an honest surprise. Hux freezes in response, although he would probably be more shocked if this was the first time Ren was pulling this little stunt. Instead, he feels a trickle of satisfaction chasing the initial panic from his mind. All men have simple needs, after all, and in the process of fulfilling those needs, they become vulnerable to exploitation. If it’s true that Ren wants sex, then he fits seamlessly into that very basic equation.

Even so, it’s been a while. A _long_ while. In fact, Hux hasn’t been intimate with anyone since he became a General, mostly to avoid giving anyone leverage over him. Sex is a business, and it’s gotten costly in his line of work over the years.

He blames his abstinence for his initial dead weight response. Thankfully, Ren doesn’t go in for more than a gentle press of his lips before pulling back an inch, a hazy kind of look in his eyes. He seems…appeased.

“You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Hux breathes, meaning to add more bite to that statement than what he actually conveys.

“The first time I tried this,” Ren whispers, “you reciprocated.”

“I left.”

“Because I wasn’t gentle enough, I think.”

“I’m not fragile,” Hux scoffs, insulted.

“If you insist.”

Hux doesn’t block the next kiss, pride sufficiently singed to bolster his reciprocation. But he doesn’t allow it to prompt anything too belligerent between them either. Just the urgent motion of Ren’s lips against his own, more capable than what he ever would’ve expected from the other man. It’s surprisingly enticing. In fact, he doesn’t even mind it when Ren cups the side of his face with his large warm hand, teasing with his tongue, tasting. There’s talent there, shocking as that sounds.

Enjoyable as this exchange is fast becoming, Hux’s mind is still working. He knows Ren is up to something. Even if he’s just looking for sex, he’s too passionate to be tender. He’s a holy terror, all the way down to the very marrow of his bones.

Hux figures he should use this opportunity to put Ren’s restraint to the test. Once his mouth is free, those heated lips now pressed against the corner of his jaw, he says, “How badly do you want to fuck me?”

Ren’s teeth graze the skin of his neck in a dangerous display of power before he tucks a kiss into the tender spot behind Hux’s ear. He says nothing as he grabs Hux’s hand and slowly guides it between his legs. It’s abundantly clear he’s hard already. And not of an insignificant size.

Ren lays his own hand over the back of Hux’s and uses Hux to knead himself.

Hux doesn’t require his guidance. He establishes his own rhythm and then, once Ren releases him, stops. Surprised, Ren rolls his hips a little upward, nudging himself against Hux’s palm.

“If you think you can convince me to spread my legs for you tonight, you’re sorely mistaken,” Hux continues, the low husk of his voice betraying how much he actually wouldn’t mind doing just that. Though perhaps another time.

He swears he can feel Ren smiling against his throat, teeth now grazing his adam’s apple. Coupled with the heavy hand that slips under the blanket pooled around his waist, Hux momentarily forgets where he was going with this.

Ren, however, isn’t a complete fool. He addresses Hux’s concern head-on, breathing the words against his skin. “If you tell me to stop, I will.” His fingers dip behind the elastic band of Hux’s cotton pants, teasing. “But you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

Hux swallows.

“Let me rephrase that,” Ren laughs, bowing his head further to kiss the hollow dip at the base of Hux’s throat. “You’d like to relinquish your control to me, but you’re afraid.”

 _‘Yes,’_ he thinks.

“No,” he says.

“How about just this then?” Ren’s slips his hand further down, fingers grazing Hux’s half-hard cock. “A helping hand for a helping hand. That would put us on an even footing for the night, wouldn’t you agree?”

The muscles in Hux’s left thigh twitch traitorously. There’s a peculiar warmth pooling in his groin, unlike the last time Ren tried this. Actually, Hux hasn’t felt this way in quite some time. It’s almost embarrassing.

It’s also tempting.

And it doesn’t leave him in too bad of a position, if he’s being honest with himself.

Assuming, of course, Ren doesn’t try to push this beyond his word. If he can compose himself tonight, then maybe, just maybe, Hux can justify investing himself in this game for the long run.

Ren raises his head, dark eyes watching Hux. The ghost of a smile graces his lips.

The bastard already knows he’s won.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone,” Hux warns, the venom on the tip of his tongue a genuine threat to the Knight’s well-being, “I’ll open fire on your TIE-fighter in the next dogfight. I’m sure Snoke has another apprentice waiting in the wings to replace you.”

“Or so you hope,” Ren muses, voice tinged with humor.

Hux doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he migrates his hand upward to Ren’s belt and fights wurg the clasp. It snaps open, loosening his tunic enough that Hux can maneuver his hand up and under it, now blindly fiddling with the tie on the front of his trousers.

With somehow greater finesse than Hux thought him capable, Ren worries down the elastic of Hux’s sleeping pants to the top of his thighs. Cock now exposed, Ren curls his fist around it again and gives it a gentle squeeze. This sends a jolt down Hux’s spine. It takes a considerable amount of effort not to roll his hips into Ren’s solid grip.

Ren’s hand is covered in callouses. Not the most brilliant discovery Hus has ever had, given the kind of combat he knows Ren engages in, but the sensation of Ren’s rough thumb rubbing against his tip momentarily shocks him. He almost forgets what he’s supposed to be doing, which is, apparently, fumbling horrendously with Ren’s own clothing. If it weren’t for the mounting pleasure at the base of his spine, Hux would be humiliated by the fact that Ren has to use his other hand to help Hux with the crossing stitch. He let’s Hux pull him out though, already wet with precum, considerably longer than Hux anticipated.

Longer than him, at least. Same girth, although Ren has an impressive upward curve. Hux’s touch ends up being more explorative than sensual as he silently evaluates the other man. But if Ren can tell, he obviously doesn’t care. He’s enjoying it. In fact, he lets out a deep, rolling sound from the back of his throat in response, which Hux hesitates to call a moan. It’s not as mindless as a moan. More possessive.

“You’ll enjoy it,” Ren says, apropos of nothing. Addled as his brain is, it takes Hux a moment to realize Ren means internally.

“If we ever get that far,” Hux retorts, genuinely surprised with how breathless he is. His pulse is racing again. He feels like he’s getting too strung up over this already, considering they haven’t been at it for very long.

It’s ironic then that he’s dry. Ren’s coaxed a little precum out of him by now, but skin-against-skin contact still isn’t the most comfortable sensation without slick, which is fast becoming the case for him as Ren picks up the pace. His prick is the last part of his anatomy he wants to chafe. It’s fortunate then that he knows there’s a small bottle of hand lotion in his bedside table.

“I—” he begins, just as Ren ducks his head forward. The words die in the back of Hux’s throat.

Ren quickly spits into his hand and resumes his work.

Hux is both disgusted by his gesture and…not. Really, he doesn’t know how he feels about it. Or why he needs to feel anything at all. There’s just something in Ren’s quiet confidence and subtle maneuvering that forces Hux to realize he might’ve calculated this whole scenario poorly. He should, perhaps, feel ashamed.

Although it’s difficult to acknowledge something as simple as shame when he can feel his orgasm creeping into existence. Dimly, he’s aware that he’s still stroking Ren, if a bit mechanically. But it's a real task to focus on anything other than the mounting pressure between his legs and Ren’s unwavering gaze, pupils blown wide, almost eclipsing the brown of his irises.

Hux tears his own eyes away to escape Ren's searing gaze, staring at a point somewhere beyond his partner. It feels like a surrender. And perhaps it is, because if he hadn’t looked away, he might’ve braced himself a little better for what happens next when Ren ducks his head again, this time to take Hux directly into his mouth.

Hux lasts barely a moment longer, his free hand tangled in Ren’s hair, strangling on a noise that’s quite undignified. His orgasm tears through him, lighting his every nerve on fire. He feels admittedly stupid for failing to anticipate Ren’s latest act of defiance, but euphoria has a fascinating way of making a person feel weak and placid, such as he does now. He has no doubt the feeling will pass once he collects his wits off the floor, but for now he just sits there, stunned, half curled over his companion as a shuddering, cramping sensation passes through his pelvis.

Ren pulls off him slowly and then leans down to grab the wastebasket tucked away beside Hux’s bedside table. He spits out Hux’s ejaculate, the sight of which should inspire some sense of empowerment in Hux, except that it doesn’t. In fact, he feels rather as though Ren stole something from him. What, he cannot say, only that he feels a little _lesser_ now than he did at the beginning, and he doesn’t know how to rectify the matter.

Eventually, Ren drops the basket again and flashes Hux a truly self-satisfied and conceited look before rising to his feet. Hux doesn’t know what to say to him, but he’s saved from the awkwardness of striking up another conversation when Ren retreats silently into the adjoining ‘fresher, closing the door gently behind himself.

Coming back to his senses, Hux realizes his hand is coated in Ren’s ejaculate and it’s dripping onto his blanket. Ruined as said blanket is now, Hux wipes the excess cum off his hand with it and then bundles the whole thing up. He deposits it in the corner of his room, knowing a cleaning droid will deal with the mess sometime at the start of the next shift, and then snatches a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his beside table in an attempt to clean himself off properly. He has the urge to shower, but he can’t with Ren already inside the refresher, so he collects the spare blanket from the top shelf of his closet and sits down on his bed, wondering how likely it is he’ll be able to send Ren promptly on his way as, utterly exhausted, he leans back to take a moment to rest.

He lies there for a long moment, thinking.

Shortly, Ren returns. He leans against the doorway of the refresher and says, “Are you yourself again?”

Hux licks his dry lips. He doesn’t bother to rise for the other man. He stares straight up at the ceiling instead, still thinking. “Yes.”

Ren approaches the bed and sits down beside Hux. “Were you aware of everything just then?”

“...Yes.”

“Is that always the case?”

“Yes.”

Ren studies him for a long moment, gaze trailing from Hux’s face to his knees and then back up again. “Does it bother you?” he asks.

“No,” Hux replies. It does, actually, but just a little. This isn’t the first time his waking self has had sex with a less than desirable partner. Hux has learned to block it out, to let it roll off him like any number of the other questionable things his body does whenever he’s no longer in control of it. At least this time he didn’t return to his lucid state partway through. And at least he didn’t kill anyone. He can forgive his waking self for degrading himself with sex more easily than he can forgive him for his more violent tendencies.

“It’s his body too,” Hux sighs, finally sitting up. His head spins a little. He can feel a migraine crawling up his scalp from the base of his skull. “He’s free to do what he wants with it.”

“I got the impression he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with it tonight.”

“He wanted leverage,” Hux replies. There’s no point dancing around the truth. His waking self is a man of business and little else. “He’s done this before. He always fumbles at the opening, but once he gets his legs under him, he’ll run right over you.”

There’s a curious quirk at the corner of Ren’s mouth. He always did like a challenge, Hux thinks. “Are you warning me away from him?”

“I’m telling you not to be surprised when he sinks his teeth into you.”

Ren breathes a small laugh. “Do you think he’s mad?”

“I know he’s mad,” Hux murmurs.

“Do _you_ want me to stop?” Ren inquires smoothly. His gaze flickers down to the hand Hux planted on the bed between them. Ren extends his fingers toward it, grazing the back of Hux’s pale knuckles.

“I have no control over his decisions,” Hux replies. He doesn't move. “So there’s hardly any point in me having an opinion.”

Ren’s hand retreats, curling into a fist before settling on his lap. “This must be agonizing, being the dominant personality without having full control over everything. It sounds similar to how it felt with Snoke in the beginning.”

Hux has hardly enough energy to function like a normal human being right now, but his empathy is still somehow running at full capacity. He feels a small twinge of pity for the man and tries to chase it away with the memory of Leia’s horrified expression as Ren tore him out of the dreamscape.

Ren is silent for a moment. Hux can feel him digging around in the back of his mind. Eventually, Ren says, “You’re thinking of my mother.”

“Yes.”

Ren rises to his feet, quickly snatching his belt from where it fell on the floor. He’s none too gentle strapping it back around his waist before he turns sharply to face Hux again. “I’ve already destroyed the connection, the one Luke made for the two of you. She can’t help you anymore. And you can’t help _her.”_

 _‘No,_ ’ he thinks. A muscle in the corner of his jaw twitches defiantly.

He’ll find a way.

“You won’t,” Ren says, raising his right hand, fingers splayed. He’s reaching further into Hux’s mind now, his touch a hundred tiny needles digging in deep somewhere weak and tender. “Because I’m going to destroy it.”

Panic wells up inside Hux as he himself rises to his feet. He feels dizzy. Already his vision is blurring. “Destroy what?”

“Your first ‘trigger’,” Ren seethes. Pain lances through Hux’s body and he drops to his knees, falling back against the side of his bed. There’s a fire in his lungs now and a vice around his heart. It feels like he’s being burned alive from the inside out. “And I’m replacing it with one of my own.”

Hux is dimly aware of the sound of someone screaming.

And then darkness descends upon him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special credit goes to **beautifulboimckinley** this chapter for suggesting (ages ago) how cool it would be if Hux and Leia played chess against one another.
> 
> If you feel as though I need to add/change any of my warnings or tags for this story, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'm aware that I'm walking a fine line here, but I really don't want to accidentally trigger someone.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Once again, I apologize for the delay.


	7. Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Ezra, who knows all too well how difficult life can be when you're dangling at the edge of hope.

_“There are some things in this world you rely on, like a sure bet. And when they let you down, shifting from where you've carefully placed them, it shakes your faith, right where you stand.”_

― Sarah Dessen

~***~

There’s a decanter sitting open on his desk, the one he usually stores in the secret recess at the back of his closet. Even lying halfway across the room on his bed, he can tell most of the whisky is gone, a thin sliver of it stagnating at the bottom of the glass beside it. He can still taste it at the back of his throat, thick and spicy and pungent.

Bitterly, he realizes it’ll be a long while before he can get another bottle.

Hux can’t remember the last time he drank himself to the point of inebriation. He wonders what drove him to do it now. But then he catches sight of another glass half-hiding behind the decanter and his brain dredges up the memory of Kylo Ren intruding on his privacy last night. Hux just can’t remember who had the upper hand by the end of their encounter. It might’ve been him. Might’ve been neither of them. Whatever the case may be, it had to have ended on friendly note if he saw fit to crack out the whiskey. It’s Alderaanian. Far from cheap.

Exhausted, Hux glances at the glaring red chronometer on his desk and rubs a hand over his bleary eyes. His alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but he feels too disgusting to just lie there and wait. Even with a pounding headache, he forces himself out of bed.

Even after a long hot shower, he doesn’t feel any better. He shaves, slicks back his hair, and dresses in something of a daze, temples throbbing, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach. He needs a cup of caf and a little something else to beat down his rising nausea if he doesn’t want anyone on the bridge to keen in on his dismal condition. Least of all Captain Peavey. Alpha-shift is always a little longer when that louse is sneaking smug looks with the newer lieutenants behind his back.

He spends the last few minutes before heading out scrubbing the aftertaste of whiskey from his mouth and obsessively checking the state of his neck in the mirror above his sink. He vaguely recalls Ren mouthing it for a while, dragging his teeth down the delicate skin of his throat. Fortunately, Ren left no marks behind. Externally, at least. It doesn’t take much effort for Hux to conjure up the memory of his red mouth and his dark eyes, something even darker roiling around inside the Knight’s mind as he pulled Hux’s pleasure from the very depths of his long-forgotten desires.

Hux braces his hands against the sink and closes his eyes. He’d almost forgotten how dangerous a good orgasm could be. Sexual liaisons are unofficially frowned upon in the First Order, to the point where getting a prescription for hormonal blockers is a far easier feat than procuring something like triptans for a migraine. Hux was never much of a sexual being to begin with, so he’s never needed to explore this avenue before. Who would’ve thought Kylo Ren would be the one to turn this aspect of his life on its head? Maybe he should look into getting a prescription anyway, even if it’s just an oxytocin inhibitor. After all, he doesn’t need to enjoy sex in order to engage in it, and it might prove safer to manipulate Ren in this arena if he can mentally and physiologically remove himself from the proceedings.

It’s food for thought, but he’s in no rush to make a decision. He has bigger things to worry about right now, namely _Starkiller_ ’s first test run. He has a meeting scheduled with the head engineer at the end of beta-shift, which will inform him of any anomalies. Regardless, he already has faith his weapon will pull through. He’s poured every spare hour of his life into this operation. Since the day of _Starkiller_ ’s conception.

Smoothing down the front of his uniform, Hux makes his way to the bridge. Thinking of _Starkiller_ gives him a greater thrill than any he could achieve through sex. It’s just the idea of having so much power at his fingertips, holding sway over the salvation or destruction of so many lives. If he succeeds in obliterating the Hosnian system, he will snuff out more lives in a single blow than _any_ other individual in the history of the known universe.

By the time he reaches the command bridge, he’s in a rather good mood. His head still smarts, but a bit of caf helps to chase away the brunt of the pain.

The fact that the freighter still hasn’t been found _does_ put a bit of a damper on things, but that’s beyond his control. The most he can do from here is ensure their entire fleet is aware of the rogue stormtrooper and the missing map. Beyond that, he—and, more importantly, _Ren_ —can merely wait.

Halfway through alpha-shift, Phasma breezes onto the command bridge like the first breath of winter. She gives Hux her usual report and then wanders down the length of the bridge with him to the viewports.

All around them, stars are streaming past like distant dreams as the _Finalizer_ cuts through the void to _Starkiller_ base. They stand in amiable silence for a moment, admiring the ever-changing view as they barrel toward their shared destiny.

Once Lieutenant Hakan wanders far enough from hearing range, Hux lowers his voice and says, “Have you noticed anything off about Lord Ren as of late?”

The light of the universe dances across the polished chrome of her helmet as she gently inclines her head toward him. Despite the fact that he can’t see her face, he has the distinct feeling she just rolled her eyes.

_“Beyond the norm, sir?”_

The real joke here is that there is no _‘norm’_ where Ren is concerned. His deposition is mercurial at best, violent one moment and confoundedly calm the next. Hux once wondered if this had something to do with natural waves in this so-called ‘Force’, if Ren was somehow deeply attuned to the ebb and flow of a much greater and ethereal power.

Then he settled on the idea that Ren was an overgrown child who’d never been taught what social conformity was.

Hux often found the simplest answers were generally the correct ones.

“There has only ever been one constant in my relationship with Lord Ren,” he explains, “and that has been our mutual animosity. Not so long ago, he indicated he would like this to change.”

_“Don’t trust him.”_

He appreciates her unwavering enmity toward the Knight, born from his continued abuse of her soldiers. She trusts the man about as far as she can throw him.

Phasma is one person Ren will never be able to seduce into his court.

“I won’t.” Carefully, he glances aside to ensure they’re still far enough from his officers to maintain their privacy. “In fact, I was thinking of increasing surveillance in my quarters.”

 _“As in ‘live’ surveillance?”_ Phasma inquires. While there are cameras situated in the hall just outside his quarters, he knows they’re only monitored at a glance. The _Finalizer_ ’s security team isn’t large enough to observe all cameras every hour of a given shift. In fact, he doubts anyone even noticed Ren dropping in unannounced last night. However, he need only make a request to have someone assigned to watch his every move aboard the ship between now and the end of his career as Ren’s co-commander.

“No,” Hux says. Besides the fact that he doesn’t want someone cluing in to the putative change in his relationship with Ren, Ren could just as easily use this opportunity to keep tabs on Hux. He would only need to figure out who’s assigned to General and parse through their mind for whatever information he’s looking for. “I want you to put out a request to Engineering for the delivery of audio and visual equipment to my quarters, something I can set up and monitor on my own. I would contact them myself, but it’s come to my attention Ren is already intercepting my missives.”

 _“I see. Consider it done.”_ She inclines her head back toward the viewport and takes one last look at the stars before leaving the bridge. Her cape cuts through the air around her silently as she pivots away, chromatic armor still gleaming brightly under the artificial light.

Hux turns to watch her go, appreciative of the fact that she didn’t pry for more information. It’s one of the reasons he’s always been willing to trust her in situations such as these. She only serves the First Order because it is convenient for her, but the cost of her loyalty is not at all a burden for him to bear. As long as he supports her in her much smaller sphere of influence, she’ll do what she can to support him in his.

He sometimes wishes his relationship with Ren was just as simple.

It _could_ be, but Hux was never the hopeful sort. Ren will show his hand sooner or later. There’s only so long the man can go before he lets his anger or impatience get the better of him.

Hux spends the rest of alpha-shift in relative peace. He eats a light meal in the mess hall at the start of beta-shift and then suffers through the various back-to-back meetings he scheduled for the cycle. As suspected, his holo-session with Captain Prin on _Starkiller_ ends on a familiar note, that being an optimal review of the base itself. Everything is as it should be. Nothing unusual to report.

Even so, after Prin’s feed is cut and Hux is left to his peace in the dimly lit conference room, he sits there for a while longer, tapping his datapad stylus against the tabletop as he stares at the far wall. Ren approached him prior to Snoke giving the green light for Hux’s operation, but paranoia is his constant companion. He didn’t rise through the ranks by leaving any unchecked weaknesses open to abuse.

That is why the beginning of delta-shift finds him in the Surveillance Command Centre, hovering behind two security officers at their joined workstation.

“Find me Lord Ren,” he says.

They both know their best bet of finding him is by rewinding to the start of alpha-shift and working their way forward through the recordings to track Ren’s current whereabouts. Back when Ren was first stationed aboard the _Finalizer_ , Hux assigned a small team to watch his every move. Ren, of course, put a stop to that with one of his puerile displays of violence. Never minding the equipment that needed to be repaired or replaced following his episode, three officers had been sent to medical in critical condition. Since then, nobody in security has the gall to keep a constant tab open on him, necessitating this indirect game of back-tracking to determine where his co-commander has been since their last encounter.

As expected, Ren first appears leaving his quarters at the beginning of the cycle. He makes his way to the gym to run a few simulations against their battle droids before dropping by Bay 1 to speak with an engineer beside his designated TIE silencer. Afterwards, he makes a brief stop at Snoke’s holochamber and then returns directly to his quarters. He hasn’t gone anywhere else since then.

One of the officers returns the feed to real-time and glances nervously over his shoulder at the General. “Would you like us to track him, sir?”

Hux shakes his head. “No. I want you to get in touch with the head of Surveillance on _Starkiller_ base. I want a list of all in-coming calls received from the _Finalizer_ in the last standard year.”

Considering Snoke’s vested interest _Starkiller_ ’s success, Hux has serious doubts Ren would try to sabotage his work. Even so, he won’t be able to rest until he knows for certain. If Ren is sending covet orders to someone at the base, he can hide his outbound messages from here. Not so easily on the other end though.

“Yes, sir,” the officer salutes, leaving his station to get in touch with his counterpart on the base.

Satisfied for the time being, Hux adjust the cuffs of his uniform over his leather gloves and continues his cursory inspection of the ship. He finishes off delta-ship with one last check of the command bridge before grabbing his last meal of the cycle and retiring to his quarters. It’ll be more of the same tomorrow, but soon enough they’ll reach their destination. If Ren doesn’t fly off the rails between now and then, Hux will consider it a blessing.

He returns to his quarters to find a new spare blanket folded up on his bed. Muddled as he was after waking this cycle, he still had the foresight to stash his near-empty decanter and glasses—and, by extension, his shame—back in the hidden recess in his closet. Embarrassment springing anew, Hux shoves the spare blanket into the closet now as well. Whatever comes next, he needs to ensure they proceed on his terms. He can’t lose himself like this again.

Slipping off his gloves and jacket, Hux retrieves his tool kit and goes about repairing his vibroblade. He works under the blinding light of his desk lamp, a familiar calm settling over his mind as he occupies himself with the menial task. It takes him less than an hour to fix the release mechanism. Then he straps it to his left wrist, extending it and retracting, over and over again, until he’s confident it won’t spring open at an inopportune moment. It feels good to have it back again. His arm felt remarkably naked without it.

Hux knows now it won’t work a damn against Ren, but he has plenty of other enemies to keep in consideration. It’s saved him from peril in the past.

Pleased, he puts away his kit and dresses down for the night. Then he turns the lights to 5% and crawls into bed.

After a minute, he turns over from one side to the other and tries to settle.

Then he does it again.

And again…

He lies there for quite some time, feeling oddly restless. He should be out like a light right now. Instead, he can tell his heartrate has gone up just a notch, can feel it pulsing gently in his throat. He has nothing to be anxious about, and yet here he is, staring up at the ceiling, trying to let his thoughts wander in a natural way.

Slowly, he closes his eyes again, focusing on the sensation of the _Finalizer_ ’s artificial gravity pulling him _down_. He is finally sinking into the void, surrendering to the Beyond…

His whole world goes black.

Hux wakes gasping for breath, body trembling, covered in a cold sweat. The chronometer on the desk blinks lazily at him. There’s approximately a one hour gap between when his waking self laid down to rest and his lucid self surfaced from the abyss. He doesn’t know what happened in the intermittence. He supposes he was actually sleeping.

Hux doesn’t understand what Ren’s trigger is, only that Ren is, in fact, responsible for the sudden shift in his personalities. He can feel the man in the back of his mind, his temples throbbing in agony.

 _‘Come to me,’_ he hears.

Helpless to deny him, Hux rises.

He changes back into his uniform and slips out into the corridor. Gamma-shift is usually run by a skeleton crew and so the route between here and Ren’s quarters is relatively empty. Hux encounters the odd stormtrooper patrol, but nobody questions his unexpected presence. He is the General, after all. He need adhere to no other schedule than his own.

Although, he almost wishes someone would intercept him. There’s a lead weight in his stomach that gets heavier as he approaches Ren’s quarters. His brow is beaded with sweat.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

But he soldiers on, because he knew going into this that his discovery was always one of the outcomes of this whole operation. Whatever Ren has in store for him, he’ll weather through it, if for no other reason than he must.

Steeling himself for the worst, Hux reaches over to press the intercom button on the control panel beside Ren’s door. It slides open before he can announce himself, presenting Ren’s dark and familiar quarters like the gaping maw of death.

As with last time, Hux steps inside to find Ren seated before his grandfather’s ashes. His eyes are closed and his head is bowed. Hux can’t find it in himself to interrupt him.

The door snaps shut behind him.

Hux stands there and waits.

“What has your other self been up to?” Ren asks before opening his eyes. He inclines his head ever so slightly toward Hux, weighing some unspoken quality with his half-lidded gaze.

Hux can still feel Ren’s presence on the surface of his mind, ever at the ready to dive back down to collect whatever information he’s searching for. Needless to say, there’s no point in denying him an answer. “Beyond his regular duties? He spent the cycle trying to determine what your plans are.”

The corner of Ren’s mouth twitches in amusement. “And what does he think my plans are?”

“He has no idea.” Hux searches his own mind for the particulars of his other self’s most recent activities. He still feels a bit muddled over Ren’s trick. “His only concern is that you intend to sabotage his weapon, and even then, he’s not wholly convinced of that. His best bet is that you’re simply playing mind games with him.”

“Hm,” is all that Ren says, clearly still amused. If Hux was in his position, perhaps he would find the humor in this situation too.

Because the only person playing mind games with Hux is, ironically, himself.

“Is that all?” Hux inquires. He knows it isn’t, but the anticipation of whatever Ren has planned for tonight is agonizing. He’d rather have it out sooner rather than later.

“The Supreme Leader has decided to make the long journey to _Starkiller_ base,” Ren informs him, leaning back in his chair. “He should arrive a few cycles after we do. We’ll kill him then.”

Hux’s diaphragm twitches, forcing out a soft sound of surprise. “So soon? You haven’t even told me what your plan is yet.”

“It isn’t complicated,” Ren continues, tilting his head back, dealing with a stitch in his neck. “During our next live audience with him, I will attempt to kill your other self. Once Snoke’s focus is directed on keeping me at bay, I’ll return you to your current state. You’ll get one shot to put an end to him.”

Hux is, admittedly, quick on the draw, but Ren’s plan is still ludicrous. Anxious, he steps over to Ren’s makeshift altar, waiting until the other man’s gaze is fixed on him again before he says, “The Praetorian Guard will kill us both.”

Ren doesn’t look fazed in the slightest. “They won’t be able to act before you do. Two of my Knights will have already boarded the _Supremacy_ before his arrival, under the guise of meeting with him for an unrelated issue. Once Snoke is dead, he won’t be able to shield the Guard, even if they’re operating on another level of the ship. You can leave the rest to us.”

Hux takes a moment to give Ren’s proposal thought. He knows Snoke never holds an audience with more than one Knight at a time, no doubt to prevent a coup from occurring. In fact, Hux has never known the Supreme Leader to meet with more than _any_ one officer at a time, with the exception, of course, of High Command. If Ren’s Knights will be waiting in the wings, prepared to wield the Force from afar, Ren really only needs one other person in the room to execute his plan. Although, obviously, that person needs to be both unaware of the plan so as not to reveal it prematurely and willing to help Ren when the time comes to act.

And Hux, naturally, will have no choice but to act. Once he’s lucid, he’ll have seconds at most to act before Snoke realizes something is amiss.

“What if he makes no effort to protect me?” Hux asks, suddenly realizing there’s a hitch in Ren’s plan after all.

Ren looks entirely too relaxed in his seat, shifting his stare over to his grandfather’s charred remains. “I asked him earlier this cycle when I would be allowed to dispose of you.” Hux tenses; Ren continues. “He said I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Couldn’t ‘ever’,” Ren sighs, as though it’s only a minor inconvenience. “He knows you represent the young and frenzied mind of the First Order, that there would be a riot if you were executed without due cause. So long as you remain malleable to his whims, he’ll keep you installed as General.”

Which was, to say, that Snoke never considered Hux to be any kind of threat to his rule. Rather, he saw Hux as the perfect puppet, someone easy to control in exchange for what little power he afforded Hux.

And he was right. Admittedly, his waking self was quite predictable. Clever in his own way, but still predictable. Snoke had been grooming him to fill this position for several years now.

“Then what?” Hux asks, because no coup truly ends with a single death.

“Like I said,” Ren murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the altar to fix his gaze on Hux. “Leave that to us.”

Hux drops his own gaze, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. Unbidden, he thinks about the door and the stretch of freedom on the other side. He’s also distinctly aware of his sweat gathering under his gloves in the palms of his hands.

“You look unwell,” Ren says, a deceptively light lilt to his voice. He rises from his seat. “Give me your coat.”

Hux’s waking self wears his great coat for more than just its warmth. It serves as an extra layer of protection for his self-perception, a way to hide his smaller frame. Hux pulled it on before he left his quarters purely out of habit, but he’s suddenly afraid to relinquish it now. It can’t really protect him, not from Ren, but peeling it off his shoulders feels like an act of capitulation, like he’s being stripped of what meager power remains in his hands. And Ren must know. His eyes are trained on the fabric as it slips down Hux’s arms, as though it’s removal means more to him than Hux will ever know.

Ren takes the coat from him just as Hux is about to loop it over his own arm. “And the gloves.”

Another non-essential article of clothing aboard this ship, but Hux can’t stand the way the cold air kisses the back of his hands as he pulls them off. These, too, Ren takes from him, depositing them on the bed before turning back to Hux. And Hux, still fully clothed, somehow feels naked before his gaze.

There’s a poignant pause as Ren studies the length of his body. Hux feels compelled to look away. He turns his head toward the door without meaning to, toward the illusion of freedom.

Hux’s attention is redirected by the sound of the sole chair in the room being dragged across the floor. Ren pulls it a few feet closer to himself and the bed, but keeps it turned toward the altar. “Sit,” he says.

His knees are stiff, but Hux somehow coaxes his legs into motion. He takes a seat slowly, gripping the armrests, fighting the urge to cross his legs in favor of keeping himself in a better position to vault back to his feet. Not that he would be able to if Ren pinned him with the Force, but the primitive part of Hux’s brain is screaming at him not to take any chances.

Once Hux is settled, Ren situates himself between Hux and the altar, standing with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands folded neatly behind his back, relaxed in a way Hux himself will never achieve again. “We’re going to talk about Luke,” Ren says, voice taut with a hint of irritation. Which is to be expected. Ren is always irritated with Luke. Hux doesn’t know if Ren is capable of feeling anything beyond that for the old man.

“There’s nothing I can tell you that you can’t find out for yourself,” Hux replies. Even now, he can feel Ren skimming through his memories with Luke again, first of their many clandestine meetings in the dreamscape and then tracking back to the long stretch of freedom in the forest. Nothing sacred is left untouched. Ren has dragged every icon out into the light to let the hot glare of his judgement curl and flake the rich colors from these treasured moments.

“I’m doing this for your benefit,” Ren says, voice echoing in the distance. Hux feels hazy. His left arm aches. So do his ribs. The throbbing pain in his head doesn’t help much either.

A red light flashes before his eyes.

All around him, people are screaming

“What is this?” he gasps. It’s been a while, but he recognizes the scene. It was his hellish journey plummeting toward the ground in that burning transporter. He still has the occasional nightmare of Lieutenant Valson’s horrified face as she witnessed his violent ascent from his seat, his head connecting sharply with the steel hull above him just before he lost consciousness.

Ren ignores Hux’s question in favor of posing one of his own: “Where did it all go wrong?”

“I don’t understand,” he says faintly, vision swimming as Ren’s dark figure wavers back into existence before him.

“The transporter,” Ren coaxes. His voice is deep and soft. Hux can _feel_ it behind his eyes. “Why did it crash?”

Hux searches his memories for an answer. “A malfunction.”

“What kind of malfunction?”

“I don’t remember,” he murmurs. “I lost consciousness after the alarm went off.” Dimly, he realizes Ren is using the same techniques he would utilize to interrogate a prisoner, but only if he couldn’t already pry the information he needed from their mind. However, all that Hux knows is already open to him. They don’t need to revisit this memory together. “Why does it matter?”

“Because Luke was there,” Ren replies. He looks bigger somehow, but then Hux realizes he’s merely moved closer, still looming, still calm. “He only came to that planet to collect an artifact—an artifact he found the same day you crashed. Why did he stay?”

Something turns inside his stomach. Hux shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “To help me.”

Ren laughs a little at this. “ _For_ you, certainly. But not to help. Haven’t you ever wondered why you were the sole survivor? You weren’t even strapped in. You should’ve died before you hit the ground.”

Hux had, in fact, often wondered why he survived. He’d long thought either Renner or Lux, the two officers who’d been seated on either side of him, made a grab for him after he lost consciousness. Renner, at least, had extensive training in the paratroop regiment and once saved a colleague whose chute failed to deploy mid-fall. He had both the experience and wherewithal to save Hux in that instance.

“I can’t explain what happened,” Hux mutters through the haze, “and you can’t do more than speculate.”

“It’s easy to speculate when you recognize the pattern.”

“What pattern?”

“The infiltration of the mind.” Ren is much, _much_ closer now. He crouches down in front of Hux. Even in the dim light of his quarters, his dark eyes shine brighter than Hux has ever seen before. Clearer. “They present you with a problem they convince you only they can fix. Then you invite them in.” Ren glances down for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. “And they never leave…”

Hux knows what he’s doing. “Luke hasn’t invaded my mind.”

“Then what would you call it?” Ren looks up at him again. “He first entered your mind without your permission. Even you remember that. Then he offered to ‘fix’ you, although you wouldn’t agree until you realized you were broken.” Ren laughs again. It’s sharper this time. Louder. “And _when_ did you realize you were broken? When you felt sad, of course. But Force users can do that, you know—manipulate both your thoughts and emotions. It’s a simple thing to tug on a person’s heart strings.”

“He didn’t,” Hux snaps, even though he doesn’t feel the familiar burn of ire in his chest. Instead, he becomes acutely aware of the cold sweat collecting on his brow and the nape of his neck, of the roiling sensation in the pit of his stomach. He feels ill all over again. “I was broken long before I met him. If you read my file—if you knew who and _what_ my father was, you would understand that.”

“I did.” Ren smiles, a small quirk of the lip that is anything but innocent. “You were a promising officer, even back then. Everyone had such high hopes for you. Always knew you were going to rise to the top.”

Hux shifts uncomfortably in his seat again.

Ren continues. “If I was Luke and I could save anyone on that transporter, I’d go for you. If I succeeded in seducing you into the Light, you’d give me my best shot at crippling my enemies, at getting close to Snoke.”

Hux clutches the armrests so tightly, he hears the chair creak. “This game of subterfuge has been _entirely_ of my own making. _I_ went against his advice and returned to the First Order.”

“At your _own_ insistence?” Ren asks, voice light, mocking him. “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps _this_ very persona was crafted by him? How else would explain this unusual dichotomy? At a glance, you’re two entirely different souls living in one body.”

Hux opens his mouth to answer, but instead stumbles over the complete absence of one. He’d wondered about that, once. Particularly the discrepancy of moral agency between his two selves. Not once did he assume Luke created either personality, but the difference is still stunning. 

Two souls in one body.

It’s a regrettably apt description.

Even so, this is Ren’s paranoia speaking. His imagination is just as visceral as his anger. Trust _him_ to search for assailants in an empty shadow.

Hux is still unconvinced of Luke’s deception. Even if Luke intended to use Hux somehow, he’d done nothing more than lift the veil over his eyes. Now Hux sees what everyone else sees—what everyone with _free will_ sees with respect to Snoke and the First Order, all that ambition and hatred carried like a banner over the shoulders of the fettered and the fanatic. How Hux’s waking self remains blind to this madness is astonishing.

Hux takes a moment to just breathe and think. A bead of sweat rolls down his left temple. He focuses on it, on the cool trail it leaves in its wake. It feels like a fever breaking.

“He’s a good man,” Hux finally replies, reiterating his stance from their last conversation.

“So you say,” Ren murmurs, slowly rising to his full height again. He looms.

Hux refuses to tremble.

“He only wanted to save you,” Hux continues. “He worried about you constantly. It pained him to know he couldn’t.”

“Save me from _what_?” Ren demands, sibilant and cold. “Becoming a monster? You realize that’s the greatest joke of all, don’t you—this concept of ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’? There are no such things. ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’? All that really boils down to is _apathy_ and _passion_.”

“A passion born of hatred—”

“—and fervor and warmth and _longing_.” Ren’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He unclenches them and clenches them again, breathing heavily, like his very being hinges on this distinction. “Both sides are constantly vying for control, but the only way to achieve power over your destiny is by siding with the latter.”

“Snoke dragged you into the Darkness,” Hux reminds him. “That doesn’t sound like personal power to me.”

“He certainly sang its praises,” Ren concedes, unclenching and clenching his hands again. Once he stops, Hux senses a shift in the air between them. “But Snoke wasn’t the one who turned me to the Dark Side. He opened the door to it, but someone else ushered me through.”

Hux clutches the armrests of his chair a little harder, still somewhat braced for action. It’s ironic then that he doesn’t move when Ren raises his right hand, fingers splayed, inches from Hux’s face.

“Let me show you,” he says.

 _‘No’_ , Hux thinks but already his world goes dark. Pitch black.

Oblivion.

Then he feels it, a half-formed thought, distinguished neither by sight nor sound. It’s the weightiness of the chest from sustained anguish, the kind of worry that slowly but surely whittles away at the soul. A voice calls to him from a distance, promising him power, but only at the cost of such great and terrible acts of depravity. It wants to give him everything; it loathes to let him keep it.

He recoils further into himself. Tries to think of a large body of water, peaceful on the surface, ripples glimmering like jewels under the sun. But still the voice beckons him, pulling him back into the void. And as always, it prevails.

Then there is a light. Not pure; not white. He opens his eyes under the glow, greeted by the walls of a clay hut and a burning presence beside his head. When he turns to look, he sees death itself hovering over him, poised for the kill.

At the other end of this terrible weapon stands Luke Skywalker, face darkened with defeat.

Somewhere deep inside of him, a wailing chasm widens its gape, sucking in the last of his light, the last of his hope. He is devastated beyond words…

But he will _not_ be beaten.

_“I fled the Light to survive him.”_

Hux comes back to himself heaving, leaning sideways against the right armrest, clutching it for dear life. His face and neck and chest feel hot, but his extremities are cold. He’s trembling.

Ren’s vision was so vivid…too vivid. Hux still can’t get it out of his head.

“Do you see?” Ren asks, crouching down in front of him once more, hand resting on Hux’s thigh. He stares up at Hux with his brown eyes. Leia’s eyes. Anger and anguish and desperation war within them. Pleading, almost. “Do you _see_?”

And the part of Hux that is human, the part of him that Luke nurtured into existence, pities this terrible creature.

There’s that softening of Ren’s features again as he glimpses Hux’s empathy, the thing he’s been yearning for since Hux’s first big mistake. “ _I_ am in charge of my destiny,” he says, bolstered by his reaction. “Not Snoke; not Luke. This power is mine alone.”

Hux is still leaning into the armrest, trying to slow his mind and his body. Gradually, his breathing evens out. A sententious silence settles over them as Ren’s gaze wanders across Hux’s face, as Hux focuses on restoring the rhythm of his heart and lungs.

It would almost seem unusual how readily he achieves this calm, except he’s seen it wash over others many times before, often in the hour of their death. It’s a simple acceptance of powerlessness, of letting go of everything you can no longer control and focusing solely on _feeling_. It’s surrender laced with shock, prompting his mind to go quiet and his body to go lax. Ren’s torn down all his defences, mental and emotional, and now the only appropriate response is to submit and agree with everything. There is no escape from this…

And yet.

This is not him.

In all other arenas of his life, both waking and lucid, Hux has never entered a situation without first planning an escape route. Admittedly, his other self is far more conniving than he is, more highly geared toward self-preservation, but submission is often too unsavory an avenue for either of them to pursue. No…when his other self has his back up against the wall, he searches for the softest spot and sinks his teeth in.

So, Hux takes a page from his other self’s book and studies Ren in return. His co-commander is breathing deeply, his hand a hot weight against Hux’s thigh. His eyes are blown wide with passion, still waiting for some small sound or motion to break their trance and precipitate whatever he has in mind for them next.

But Hux has other plans.

“Power,” he says. Slowly, as if tasting the word.

Ren parts his lips. Glances down at Hux’s mouth before returning his gaze. “Yes, power.”

“You are beyond good and evil,” Hux clarifies, just as slowly, giving himself time to work this all out inside his head. “You feel no more compelled to kill a person than you do to save them. All that you want is to assert yourself. _Prove_ yourself. Through domination, most notably.”

“Yes,” Ren breathes, evenly, assured. But Hux catches it, the tell-tale tension at the corners of his eyes. Curiosity and caution. Enough to force Ren onto his proverbial back foot, to give Hux space to think again.

Hux licks his lips. He should tread carefully, but this is one of those now-or-never moments, a rare opening to discover how far he can push back against Ren, if at all. “If your destiny is already ripe for the taking—if you’re as _powerful_ as you claim to be, then there’s nothing Snoke can do to stop you when the time comes. In fact, there’s nothing he can do even now.”

Ren remains silent. A wise enough move, trying to rattle Hux out of his current train of thought, to see if Hux is too weak or afraid to continue. But Hux isn’t and so onward he goes.

“Delay the destruction of the Hosnian system,” he says. “If only for a day.”

Predictably, Ren rises to his feet. That tension is still there, but Hux can tell he’s trying to keep a level head. “What good will that _really_ do the Republic?” Ren demands. “What good would that do _us_? It would draw Snoke’s attention to us, if nothing else.”

Hux leans back in his chair, straightening his spine. He has no doubt the Resistance will continue evacuating the Hosnian system now that he’s compromised. A day will save plenty of lives, if not all of them. It’s a pity Ren doesn’t care. “I have every faith in your abilities.”

“I have nothing to prove to you.” Ren snaps, turning away, seemingly staring at his grandfather’s ashes.

It was worth a try, Hux thinks. Even if all he got for his efforts was yet another petulant response from Ren.

Sitting there, waiting for the hammer to fall again, is a rather uncomfortable position to be in. He doesn’t dare move, for fear of breaking Ren’s reverie, of interrupting whatever internal dialogue he must be engaging in with Lord Vader.

“Leave,” Ren says suddenly, not moving. “Do something about the surveillance equipment your other self requested, then return to the void. You have twenty minutes.” A pause. “I’ll be watching.”

Hux can already feel Ren squirming his way between his thoughts, settling down somewhere just behind his eyes. Hux rises without delay, grabs his coat and his gloves, and makes his way briskly through the corridors. His heart is pounding, his mind awhirl. Twenty minutes isn’t much. He wonders if this is supposed to be a test.

He tries to focus less on the _why_ and more of the _how_ as he shuffles out of his uniform and back into his sleepwear once he’s safely returned to his own quarters. Then he logs onto his datapad and uses the usual back end channels to see whether or not Phasma put in a request yet. Which she has. Cancelling it would looks suspicious. In fact, meddling with the equipment itself would look as equally as bad. His waking self would recognize the interference for what it is.

He can still feel Ren inside his head, a quiet presence watching, waiting, evaluating him.

Hux opens the internal FO mail service. He knows how to send anonymous messages. He could really throw a spanner in the works if he could reach out to the right person. If only he knew who and what to say to them.

Hux closes his eyes. Tries to think. He needs to go for maximum impact here…

Opening his eyes again, he types in his own mail address. He can sense Ren shifting, searching for the words Hux wants to write. The only problem is, Hux still doesn’t know what to say. Something to deter his waking self from going through with his own plans, something to scare him back into the shadows...

The answer comes to him in a flash. One word. Five letters.

He types it out and hits send before Ren can do anything about it.

Realistically, Ren could force him to open his regular mail box and delete the letter, but Hux can almost feel the man’s indecisiveness through their tentative connection. He knows Hux has limited options here.

“It’s for the best,” Hux says aloud, trying not to sound snide. “I’m sure you’ll find a way around this obstacle.”

Powering his datapad down to sleep mode, he turns down the lights and climbs into bed.

Then he closes his eyes and hums his tune and wonders what he will find waiting for him the next time Ren dredges him up from the ‘void’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Out of curiosity, do you guys feel as though the quotes distract from or ruin the surprise associated with each chapter? If so, let me know. If you like them or don't care, that's fine too. *thumbs up*.


	8. Compartmentalization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I guess I should've mentioned this a long time ago, but this story spans both TFA and TLJ, so I hope you don't mind waiting around a little longer for the ending than initially advertised. I should probably put that somewhere up in the tags...
> 
> As always, enjoy!

_“I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman within me.”_

― Dylan Thomas

~***~

He begins the next cycle on a better footing than the last.

At least at the start.

He slept heavily the night before, dreaming of the ocean as best he could remember it from his childhood. It was dark and tumultuous, white-capped waves breaking against the cliff-face to the east in the corner of his eye. He stood on the shore downwind and watched as grey storm clouds repeatedly gathered and dissipated overhead, streaks of sunlight piercing through the fog, dancing on the horizon like spirits of the great beyond. He could feel the suck and swell of the water against his bare legs, rushing up against his shins before retreating swiftly against his calves, fluid but fierce, like a coltish tease. Curiously, he wasn’t cold under the fervent spray of this majestic creature.

But he did feel oddly alone.

When he wakes, he goes through his usual routine: showers, shaves, and streaks back his hair. Puts on a crisp uniform. Tests his wrist-blade once more for luck. By the end of today’s cycle, they will reach the base. Arrangements have already been made for their arrival, although Hux will need to reconfirm if Ren intends to stay aboard the _Finalizer_ during the rally, as is his usual preference. Other than that, he need only go through the usual motions of his day, oversee his regular duties while waiting with baited breath for something small to blow up. If nothing peculiar happens in the next cycle, he just might be in the clear.

Having finally sorted himself out, he makes his way down to the command bridge. His first news of the day is that several sightings of the freighter have been reported at seemingly opposite ends of the galaxy. Irritating as that is, he takes Ren’s advice to heart and informs his communications officers not to bother following up on anyone unless they’re a clear sympathizer of the First Order or a known enemy of the Resistance. Only then should they relay their intel to Lord Ren. 

Midway through alpha-shift, he picks up a datapad and loiters near the viewports to see if he’s received any urgent messages. It’s business as usual on that account, save for a single note. The header is blank and the Internal Protocol address is listed simply as a long string of zeros. The sender is completely anonymous. Hux would almost assume it’s from one of his secret operatives, except for the fact that it’s not flagged as critical.

Curiosity piqued, Hux almost opens it then and there. Instead, he locks down his datapad and tucks it under his arm, always conscious of the fact that one of his officers could be near enough to glance at his work at any given moment. There will be a time and place for that later. For now, he has work to do.

At the end of alpha-shift, he wanders off to the mess hall for a quick meal and then sees to his regular meetings. Nothing out of the norm there either. Aside from the fact that there’s an evident whiff of excitement in the air as _Starkiller_ ’s first test run draws near, he senses nothing out of the ordinary among his people. This collective feeling of accomplishment is the predictive outcome of their hard work, their first _real_ show of power against their enemies. Tensions might be running high now, but in a good way. He’ll let them bask in the sensation for a while.

It isn’t until the end of beta-shift that Hux finds a moment for himself. He retreats to his office and pulls out his personal datapad. Alone and secure, he finally opens the last message. As high strung as he is, he’s anticipating a missive about _Starkiller_ , of some secret plot to send the whole thing up in flames the second he shouts ‘fire’.

Instead, he sees only one word.

Five letters.

It feels like a punch to the gut.

He blinks in confusion at first, his brain still working to interpret what’s written before him. His fingers feel numb as he eventually lowers the datapad to his desk. He stares at the word a while longer. The font is small and innocent, but the accusation is bold: _whore_.

The last time anyone called him that, he slit their throat.

Hux’s own throat feels tight. Admittedly, he’s in shock. The slur itself he can handle, but the fact that it came from someone he can’t trace is more than a little disconcerting. If he doesn’t know who sent it, he can’t hurt them. And he wants them to _hurt_. He wants to sink his teeth into their carotid artery and feel their pulse diminish against his tongue, to show them that Ren isn’t the only person aboard this ship that’s a little less than human.

He shuts down his datapad and takes a slow, deep breath. Someone saw him and Ren. When and where, he can’t say. Either one of their quarters could be bugged—but Hux routinely checks for illicit equipment and Ren would intuitively know if someone invaded his space. Someone must have made inferences from their late-night visit or seen him leaving Ren’s quarters in a state of disarray the first time Ren assaulted him.

Mind awhirl, Hux leaves his office at a brisk pace and begins the tedious process of deconstructing his quarters. He knows what kind of surveillance equipment the _Finalizer_ has on hand; knows what the Resistance utilizes too. Even so, he finds nothing. Not a stray wire or a peculiar bolt or screw.

So far as he can tell, his rooms are clean.

Once everything is back in order he sits down at his desk and tries to collect his thoughts. Panic never helps. He should’ve taken a moment to deconstruct the message before allowing himself to jump to conclusions.

Taking a deep breath to centre himself, Hux braces his elbows against his desk and bridges his fingers together, resting his forehead against his hands. He closes his eyes.

Realistically, this is what he knows:

First, the only people who _should_ know about these liaisons are Kylo Ren and himself. Of course, the message could have been from Ren, given that he knows well enough how to send untraceable messages through their internal network. Likewise, if Ren wanted an opportunity to unsettle him at such a crucial moment this would certainly do the trick. However, though Ren is obviously a passionate creature, his reputation as a cold and mechanical being like his grandfather would be equally jeopardized if evidence of their relationship were to get out. Therefore, if Ren _did_ send the message, this is as far as he will likely go with it. He’s caused Hux a bit of discomfort, but this is the limit of his sinister machinations.

Second, some other high-ranking officer sent him that message to set him on edge prior to _Starkiller_ ’s testing. Someone somewhere is always trying to trip him up, but Hux is nimble enough in this game to keep himself upright. This insult, therefore, was probably a shot in the dark, with no substantial evidence to back it up. Which brings him to his last point.

It’s just one word.

The author of the message made neither threats nor demands in exchange for their silence. People have tried— _tried_ —to blackmail Hux in the past. He’s familiar with how this whole process goes. If they’re weak-willed, they usually start off with casual accusations and wait for a response to gauge his reaction, to see how close they are to the truth and how desperate he might be to bend to their whims before acting further. If Hux ignores them, they’ll lose their nerve; if they up the ante, then he’ll still have to deny them everything, because all blackmailers, inevitably, go back on their word. If they have nothing really with which to pressure him, he can brush off their attempts at undoing him and thus begin the process of tracking them down in return.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes. At present, there’s nothing more he can do. Except, perhaps, keep Ren at arm’s length. And axe the idea of setting up any kind of surveillance equipment of his own. If someone _is_ watching them, it’s for the best that he _not_ give them anything they could use as fodder.

Still, his nerves are frayed throughout delta-shift. He does his cursory inspection of the _Finalizer_ in a kind of haze after messaging Phasma to forget about what they talked about yesterday. Even as he pays the command bridge his final visit of the cycle, that one word continues to whittle away at his nerves. He finds his eyes scanning the bridge while everyone is otherwise occupied with their job, wondering if some young upstart sent it. Then again, he’s popular with the so-called young upstarts. If any of his officers had the nerve to write him such a message, they would more than likely be an old and bitter carryover from the Empire. Such as Peavey.

Peavey certainly has a big enough chip on his shoulder. Still, Hux refuses to spare the man a second thought. If Peavey had either the cunning or resources to covertly stalk Hux aboard his own ship, he would’ve been promoted up from Captain decades ago.

Hux tries to put the message from his mind as delta-shift draws to an end. Normally, he would retire to his quarters now and squeeze in a few hours of sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to rest until they reach the base. Part of that is due to stress, but part of that is also due to his own honest excitement. He’s in just as much awe over what they’re about to achieve as everyone else on this ship.

As wound up as he is, Hux retreats to the officers’ lounge instead. It’s emptier than usual, but he chalks that up to the fact that most people want to be well rested for tomorrow. He, on the other hand, thrives on a little sleep deprivation. It’s something about the peculiar wall he hits, that blissful haze on the second day that melts away all the aches and pains of his mind and body. He wants to enter that phase when they land. He’ll probably swing by his quarters sometime before then to tidy himself up, but for now he’s content to pour himself two fingers of a cheap whiskey at the bar and then retreat to a small table tucked away between a semi-translucent black screen in the far corner and the lounge viewport. He finally settles into a seat facing the stars and tries to think of nothing for a change.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but the soft buzz of conversation in the room slowly dies away as the other officers gradually return to their quarters. Hux remains. He doesn’t pour himself another glass, but he’s still enjoying the view. He feels oddly at peace.

Ren catches him like this, half-numbed and unguarded. Hi co-commander appears first as a moving shadow in the corner of his eye before he rounds the screen to join Hux by the viewport. Hux watches silently as Ren sinks into the solitary seat across from him, his back to the stars.

_“General.”_

“Lord Ren,” Hux returns with a small nod. His peace is shattered now, mind vaulting back to the message, but he’s careful not to let it show. “Care to join me for a drink?”

He’s expecting Ren to brush off the offer with a biting laugh or a dismissive wave of his hand, as he often does in situations such as these, but instead the man reaches up to remove his mask. The latches hiss softly as they spring open. Then the mouthguard swings forward and up. Ren’s hair, as always, is an utter mess as he lowers his mask to the table and gives his head a shake.

Backlit by the universe, he looks like something ethereal and unkind.

Hux promptly shifts his gaze to the stars again. Despite himself, he can’t look at Ren without remembering the way he cradled that dark head in his lap, every muscle in his body pulled taut as his orgasm raced through him.

Thankfully he can’t feel Ren poking around inside his mind yet, otherwise he would have to excuse himself in embarrassment. Instead, he sits there and tries to remember the last time Ren removed his helmet in a public setting. It speaks volumes that his co-commander would voluntarily put himself in such a self-opined position of vulnerability for the sole sake of speaking openly with Hux, even with so few people still milling about behind the screen.

“I don’t drink,” comes Ren’s usual response. Hux doesn’t know if this abstinence is a habit he carried over from his days as a Jedi or if Snoke has similarly forbidden him the vice of alcohol. Whatever the case may be, Hux always offers for the sake of etiquette. 

“Pity,” Hux says. He glances at his empty glass and resists the urge to grab another. Ren puts him on edge in the worst way sometimes, more so now after Hux received that message.

“A report came through on the freighter from a source I trust,” Ren continues, running a hand through his hair, pushing a few errant strands back from his face. Hux wonders if it would kill him to comb it someday. “It’s somewhere in the Western Reaches of the Mid Rim. I’ve alerted my operatives in the area.”

Hux tilts his head back, feeling the heat rising on the nape of his neck as he wonders if Ren’s come to demand he reroute their ship _now_ of all times. “Whether or not your operatives find the freighter, I refuse to stray from our present course.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Ren says quietly. “Whatever happens, it can wait until after you’ve dealt with the Hosnian System.”

Nothing kicks up Hux’s suspicions quite like a smooth surrender, especially when it comes from Ren. Therefore, he has trouble believing Ren’s sincerity in that statement until he remembers that Leia Organa is his co-commander’s mother, the veritable leader of the Resistance and, ironically, one of Ren’s oldest foes. As unappreciative Ren is of _Starkiller_ ’s power, he has a very personal reason to witness the Republic toppled from its pedestal in the upcoming fiery blaze of retribution.

Hux almost feels like ribbing him about potentially letting Skywalker slip through his fingers so easily now, but he holds his tongue for two reasons. First, Skywalker is rarely a safe topic of conversation with Ren; and second, Hux doesn’t want to inadvertently goad Ren into going back on his word. Far better to play nice than risk his looming victory over a squabble with his co-commander.

“How generous of you,” Hux replies, still offering up the smallest of jibs. Ren’s left eyebrow twitches with a hint of annoyance, but that’s the extent of his response. “Is that all?”

Ren leans back in his chair, elbows braced against the armrests. He stretches his long legs out in front of him; Hux catches sight of his feet around the lip of the table. He’s unconsciously reminded of how large Ren is in comparison to his surroundings.

Seemingly relaxed, Ren says, “I will be joining you at the base. If you prefer, I won’t attend the rally.”

That’s the second surprise in just under a minute. Coupled with the removal of his mask, Ren is beginning to give off an air of sincerity tonight.

Under normal circumstances, this would put Hux on high alert. Technically, he’s already on high alert, but Ren’s behavior here and now fits in with his behavior during their previous encounters these last few cycles. In fact, his attendance during Hux’s speech would go a long way in sending a message of solidarity to their officers, something the Ren-of-old would’ve avoided at all costs.

Hux is divided on how to proceed.

Casually, he crosses one leg over the other. “Have you sent me any internal messages since our last meeting?” he asks, hoping to catch Ren on his back foot if he did.

“No,” he says.

The thing about Ren, Hux has long since come to realize, is that he never puts much effort into controlling his emotions or, by extension, his facial expressions. It’s one of the reasons for his mask. Therefore, the lack of any facial tic with his answer goes a long way in supporting Ren’s innocence in this unusual affair.

After a beat, Ren frowns, curious. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Hux shifts subtly in his seat. “I think your attendance at the rally would be appropriate. Was this one of the Supreme Leader’s suggestions?”

Ren glances at the edge of the screen, over at someone beside the bar. “He suggested I should try to promote a more public display of unity between us now that the First Order is making its presence known in the galaxy. How I go about doing that, though, is entirely up to me.”

“Entirely up to _us_ ,” Hux amends quietly.

He’s not sure how his response came across to Ren, but he wasn’t expecting the way Ren glances back at him out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his lip quirked with just a hint of a smile.

Hux swallows slowly, hoping the high collar of his tunic hides the bob of his larynx. He’s not nervous.

He’s simply reminding himself to proceed with caution.

“Is that why you’ve been so…” Hux considers, for a moment, that they are still in a public venue and that he can’t be sure who, if anyone, is listening in on their conversation. Remembering that he needs to tread carefully in more ways than one, he continues: “… _congenial_ as of late? Snoke finally laid down the law with you.”

He might’ve struck a nerve there if the subtle narrowing of Ren’s eyes is anything to go by. But miraculously his co-commander keeps the volume of his voice down to an acceptable level when he responds. “Hard as you might find this to believe, the Supreme Leader does not dictate my every move,” he sighs, crossing one ankle over the other, still entirely too relaxed in his seat. “We’ve been together for six years, General. As the Supreme Leader has made it abundantly clear that we can neither maim nor kill one another, I think our energy is better focused on other pursuits. Don’t you agree?”

A part of Hux is still suspicious of Ren’s motives, but surprisingly he still finds himself willing to play along with Ren’s game. “Given our long history, you can hardly fault me for my skepticism.”

“Time will tell you all that you desire to know about my intentions,” Ren replies. “And I’m willing to give you plenty of that. I ask for nothing in return but your careful consideration.”

“Then we are agreed.” Hux shifts his gaze back to the stars, those dazzling streams of light that fly past the viewport in a haze. It’s a truly mesmerizing sight. “I will be delivering my speech at 1200 hours. You are welcome to join me on the platform if you so desire.”

“I shall.” Finally pulling himself out of his curious slump, Ren reaches forward to gather his helmet off the table and rises to his feet. He nods his farewell. “General.”

Hux nods in return, glancing at Ren as the man replaces his mask and disappears behind the screen.

Alone again, Hux watches the stars for a little while longer. Ren leaves him in a mild state of confusion. He still has so many questions for the man.

But they will have to wait.

He closes his eyes and thinks back on his speech, the one he prepared when he first realized _Starkiller_ was entering the final stage of its construction. He’s made minor editions to it since then, but for the most part it’s become his unwavering creed, perfect and eternal.

The moment those words leave his lips, a new era will begin.

Hux draws in a deep breath and finally pulls himself up from his seat. He’s barely had anything to drink but he feels heavy and sated, considerably better than he did earlier this cycle. He might catch a few hours of sleep after all. _Just_ a few, mind you. He still wants to have that familiar edge tomorrow.

This pleasant feeling follows him all the way back to his quarters. It only wavers momentarily, as he peels off his uniform and slips under the covers of his bed. He wonders if he’s forgetting something, but already he’s falling asleep.

He loses track of time until Ren sets off his mysterious trigger.

Hux wakes up gasping, head spinning, blood rushing in his ears. He rolls onto his side, willing himself to breathe normally again, wondering whether the lack of finesse in Ren’s trigger is due to the man’s fumbling inexperience or a complete disregard for Hux’s wellbeing. Either explanation is as equally discomforting.

Once he’s collected himself, Hux spots his adversary sitting at his desk, staring down at the General’s datapad. The room’s lights are dimmed to 20%, but Ren’s face is lit by the gentle blue glow of the screen.

Without looking up, the Knight says, “Do you hate him?”

His mind scrambles to figure out who _‘he’_ is, but Hux gets it in about a second. “I don’t know,” he croaks, just now realizing how dry his mouth and throat are. He sits up and reaches over for the glass of water beside his bed, sipping it slowly as the room continues to spin. After a moment of contemplation, he amends his response, “Yes. I hate him.”

“You called him a whore,” Ren murmurs, still glancing at the screen. Hux almost wishes he didn’t act so nonchalant about all of this. Somehow, he thinks he would have an easier time accepting his defeat if Ren just decided to beat him into a pulp over it. It would give Hux a sense of finality, if nothing else at all. “Is he a whore?”

“There isn’t a word for what he is,” Hux mumbles into his glass.

That earns him a small smile. Ren finally powers off the datapad and replaces it on the desk. “I caught a glimpse of exhilaration when you sent him that message. Transient, but satisfying…He isn’t the only vicious thing in that complicated mind of yours.”

“I never claimed to be a meek or mild creature,” he replies, returning the glass to his bedside table. He wonders if he should get out of bed, but he supposes they’re beyond common conventions now with how casually Ren slips both into his mind and his quarters uninvited. So he settles back against the steel headboard instead. “Does that surprise you?”

“In a way, it does. Although, I suppose even if you _are_ two entirely different people, that doesn’t mean you can’t share certain qualities.”

Hux doesn’t have anything to add to that, so he just nods.

Ren looks entirely too comfortable in his chair, one ankle crossed casually over the other, mimicking his earlier posture with Hux’s waking self. Hux imagines it brings the man no end of amusement to finally have his finger on the pulse-point of this little secret.

After a minor lull in their conversation, Ren continues. “Since you know what the life of Armitage Hux looks like on both sides of the coin, I have a question for you. I would very much appreciate your honesty.”

“You need no guarantee of my honesty,” Hux scoffs. “My mind is an open book.”

“I meant with regards to yourself,” Ren clarifies. “Don’t try to hide from true your feelings.”

Uncertain, Hux still nods. He doesn’t believe in wasting one’s time with delusions. He doesn’t think he has any of those himself, but he could be mistaken.

After all, he once had Luke wall up a few corners of his eroding mind to save him from the horrors of his waking self.

“Good,” Ren says. “Tell me about your father.”

Hux glances down at his lap, thinking. He knows Ren’s read his files and probably everything the old Empire and First Order ever had on Brendol Hux. No doubt, Ren is looking for a more personal assessment of his father’s character here.

Licking his lips, Hux says, “He was…a truly horrible person.”

The corner of Ren’s mouth quirks into a smile. “The universe is full of horrible people. What kind of horrible person was he, Armitage?”

Hux could spend the rest of his life detailing all the cruel and unusual things his father had done to earn himself that label. But still, he tries to summarize. “He was…a sadist and a narcissist. He never had any intention of having an illegitimate child, and yet he still dragged me away from my birth mother so that I could serve as an example of his superior genetics. And then, when he realized I would one day surpass him, he did everything in his power to beat me back down again.”

“And you hated him.”

“Yes.”

“More than or about the same as your other self?”

Hux only needs a second to think about that. “Less so, actually.”

Ren’s brow furrows in confusion. “Less? …Everything he did to your other self, he also did to you. Why is your hatred of him diminished?”

For a second, Hux can hardly believe Ren is asking him that question.

Isn’t it obvious?

“He’s just a man,” Hux replies eventually, stumbling over his own confusion. “Just _one_ of the hundred quadrillion beings living in the known universe. It’s true he’s made more of an impact on my life than probably anyone else I’ve ever encountered, but the only person who gets to decide who or what I become at the end of the day is me.”

“Then how are you so different?” Ren presses, still frowning, still struggling to understand. “If you truly believe the people around you have so little influence over you, how did one man manage to make _you_?”

He’s talking about Luke again, Hux realizes.

Hux closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about Luke. Childishly, he wants to preserve the purity of his memories of the old man.

Hux takes a moment to consider his response. “Luke didn’t ‘make’ me,” he says. He opens his eyes to meet Ren’s dark gaze. “He simply provided me with the opportunity to remake myself.”

A muscle in Ren’s jaw twitches as he looks away, staring across the room at the mirror hanging against the wall beside Hux’s closet. “How could you be so brilliant and yet so _blind_. Luke is…Luke—” Frustrated, he rises to his feet, stepping away from the desk and toward the centre of the room, clearly with no set destination in mind. “He’s—”

“Gone,” Hux interjects quietly. Ren’s gaze snaps back to him. “You’re hung up over a man who’s gone, Ren. Likely forever.” It hurt to revisit this fact, to remember the small open wound left in the wake of Luke’s sudden abandonment, but it has to be said. “You have within you the power to let go of all the hurt he ever caused you—to move _on_ with your life—and yet you’re still holding onto him. Why? He isn’t with you anymore.”

“He’s still with me,” Ren says, voice low, taut with emotion. “He lives on in you.”

It’s hard not to feel pinned by the intensity of Ren’s gaze. Hux doesn’t know what to say to diffuse this situation, but he tries anyway. “And the amount of influence I have over you is for you alone to decide. You know how easy it would be to discard me and everything I’ve ever said to you, don’t you?”

Ren’s gaze lingers for a long, uncomfortable moment before he turns away again. He paces the length of the room, lost in thought.

The longer he paces, the harder Hux’s heart hammers against his ribs. He knows he has to say something soon to keep Ren from spiraling off somewhere dark and cold, somewhere Hux can’t follow him with strategy or simple logic.

He licks his dry lips and tries again. “The last time we spoke, you told me you were the master of your destiny. Not Snoke. Not Luke. Why do you find it so hard to believe that my destiny is also my own?” He pauses a moment, watching as Ren finally comes to a halt, staring at the far wall. “Is it because I’m a ‘Force-null’?”

His question is met with silence. But only for a heartbeat. “It certainly puts you at a disadvantage,” Ren says, although there’s an uneasy quality to his voice, as though he’s tempted to concede to Hux’s point.

“Why are you so interested in my destiny?” Hux asks, wondering if Ren is simply using their illicit conversations to validate his own concerns about the path he’s chosen or if there’s something more going on here.

“There’s so much I have yet to tell you,” Ren breathes. He finally tears his eyes away from the wall to stare at Hux again.

Hux feels as though he’s balanced on some great precipice. That at any moment, Ren is going to reach out and push him.

Or pull him back in.

“Then tell me,” Hux says.

“Not yet.” Ren’s gaze drops to the floor. “You’re not really listening to me. You won’t understand.”

“I’m trying—” he begins, but his argument is cut short by the sudden ringing in his ears.

It starts off high pitched and painful, and then abruptly plummets into a low hum, a hum that subsequently bleeds into a human voice.

One that sounds like Leia Organa.

Under her soft voice, he can hear Ren humming too, reaching so far into Hux’s mind with the Force that Hux somehow manages to catch a glimpse of Ren’s last memory of that song at the other end of their shared connection. He sees Ben Solo sitting on a bench in a garden, surrounded by trees and dappled sunlight and the cheery chirp of brightly colored birds. The boy’s mother is sitting beside him, holding his trembling form close to her chest as they wait for someone important to arrive.

Somehow, Hux knows they’re waiting for Luke.

But Hux slips into oblivion before his apparition appears.

~***~

Hux wakes with a minor headache.

He’d forgotten how groggy naps make him. Utterly abysmal. He takes a pill for the throbbing pain behind his eyes and washes it down with a glass of water, promising himself he’ll never succumb to his baser needs like that again. Then he slips on a clean uniform, restyles his hair, and begins rehearsing his speech for the umpteenth time in the back of his mind.

Before he leaves his quarters, he grabs his cap and carefully arranges it on his head. Shoves his arms through the sleeves of his greatcoat instead of settling it over his shoulders like a cape as he usually does too. Then he marches through the corridors toward Loading Bay 1, slipping his gloves on as he passes Captain Phasma on his way in. Everyone salutes him. Everyone falls in line. Now, more than ever before, Hux feels as though their organization has finally become the machine that will bring order to the galaxy, that will inject a new and glorious purpose directly into the pulsing vein of the universe.

This here is the beginning of eternity.

Ren is already waiting for him in one of the shuttles, mask and all. He’s accompanied by two other minor officers and four stormtroopers, who are really there to serve as Hux’s retinue and guard. They say nothing to one another as the shuttle hovers up into the air before gliding out into space.

Even from the far back of their small ship, Hux can see _Starkiller_ looming in the distance, perfect and white, a once dying planet given life. There’s a hint of anxiety under the throb of his excitement, of course, an understandable concern over whether or not his weapon will work today. But he’s already checked and rechecked and checked yet again every issue, however small, that ever cropped up during _Starkiller_ ’s construction. The first time it fires, it’ll go off without a hitch. He knows.

He’s willing to stake his life on it.

He doesn’t realize he’s fidgeting with the hem of his left glove until Ren gently inclines his head downward. Hux can never safely tell where his co-commander’s gaze falls, given the mask, but Ren’s behavior forces him to focus on himself. He drops his arms to his sides in response, feeling a twinge of annoyance at Ren’s silent judgment.

The white-capped mountains over the base slowly come into view, and soon enough they’re pulling into Bay 4. Through the viewport he can see rows upon rows of stormtroopers awaiting his arrival, as well as a large retinue of officers. Captain Prin stands before them all, watching the shuttle as it pivots slowly and lands.

There’s a minor thump as the shuttle settles against the deck. Nobody says anything as the ramp gradually hisses open and Hux’s retinue marches out onto the platform. Ren waits for Hux to proceed before him, hovering one step behind him as they go.

Hux’s eyes fall first on Captain Prin, but then his gaze flickers to Captain Kain as the man steps out of line to stand beside his Commanding Officer. Hux has never liked Kain. The man was an old friend of his father’s back in the day, which is why Hux refused outright to give him command of _Starkiller_ in his absence.

As natural as his disdain is for the other man, it’s the only excuse Hux has for his complete lack of surprise when Kain raises his blaster and squeezes off a shot.

In the corner of his right eye, he sees Ren raise his arm to deflect the blast. However, Ren’s practiced exclusively with deflecting shots away from himself, which is why it still connects with Hux’s left shoulder, even if Ren is able to divert its current path away from his heart.

Hux isn’t wearing any kind of armor, so there’s nothing to stop its trajectory as it pierces through muscle and bone. It feels like a punch at first, knocking him clean off his feet. He lands flat his back. Loses his breath in one go. Then he feels hot all over, though only briefly, before something not too unlike a cold breeze passes through him.

He’s in shock, he thinks, only dimly aware of the sudden uproar all around him and the barked orders from his co-commander.

The pain, when it comes, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

Through the haze, he sees two of his officers kneeling over him. One of them is pressing her crumpled uniform jacket against his shoulder, applying pressure until the medics arrive. The other is trying to tell him something. Attempting to keep him awake, Hux supposes.

But Hux can’t hear him. Instead, all he can focus on is Ren’s masked face as the man looms overhead.

Then he succumbs to the encroaching darkness and thinks of nothing much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Poor Hux. First he's called a horrible slur and then he gets blasted off his feet. Can't catch a break, can he?
> 
> And for those of you who are curious, no, Ren did not just attempt to kill Hux. If he wanted to, there's a million other ways he could do it and with significantly fewer witnesses.


	9. Dance with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Buckle up, everyone, and make sure you keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.

_“I saw everything in the world build up and then everything in the world fall down again.”_

― Marina Keegan

~***~

Hux dreams of the rain.

He’s in their little hut again, sitting on his cot, listening to the gentle patter of raindrops against the thatched roof above. He’s emaciated and weak, like he was back then, but also warm and lighthearted and so utterly at peace with himself.

He’s staring across the firepit at the empty cot opposite him. He knows Luke is lingering somewhere just outside the open door, meditating. The man always sets aside a few hours of every day to meditate, usually basking out in the sun or resting under the shade of a nearby tree to give Hux a little time and space to himself. But he never strays far.

Just in case Hux needs him.

Hux stares at the empty cot and waits, heart heavy now with expectation.

Then he wakes.

Not entirely. He’s soaking wet and everything hurts. Someone is pulling a tube out of his throat, the kind they usually use for oxygen when they’ve dunked you unceremoniously in a bacta tank, post-operation.

 _Ah_ , he thinks.

He’s not dead yet.

 _“Much better,”_ someone says off to his left. A woman is leaning over him, staring at his shoulder, probing it gently with her gloved fingertips. Her mouth is covered with a surgical mask, but he can tell by the crinkle at the corner of her eyes that she’s pleased he’s awake. _“We need to wrap you up, General, but the worst is behind you now.”_

Hux feels like his arm and chest are on fire, like the worst is really yet to come, but he says nothing. Just squints through his drug-induced haze as the surgeon straightens herself up again, no longer shading him from the blinding light above. There’s a ringing in his ears and a thousand tiny knives digging into his brain behind his eyes. The whole room is swaying to and fro.  

Despite the fact that he’s been loaded up to his eyeballs with sedatives and muscle relaxants, he has the sudden urge to jump off the gurney and run far, far away from here. Wherever _here_ is.

Instead, he lies there miserably and waits for someone in a better state of mind to make all the necessary decisions for him.

There are other people closing in around the bed now. A droid with a large syringe pierces the IV line hooked up to his right arm as two orderlies debate over how they’re going to maneuver him onto a proper bed. Someone else is reading his stats aloud off a screen just outside his field of vision.

The fresh batch of sedatives pulls Hux under again.

He returns to the forest.

Hesitantly, he rises from his cot and staggers to the door. Leaning against the frame, he scans the trees for any sign of Luke. It’s midday and the rain is picking up. Far above and behind him, he can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance.

Hux doesn’t see him.

Disheartened, he wakes again.

This time, he’s somewhere dimly lit. Still lying flat on his back, but in considerably less pain then before. In fact, his shoulder is entirely numb, thanks to whatever local anesthetic they used on him. The rest of his body feels weak and fatigued. The urge to fall back asleep is overwhelming.

As he begins to debate the pros and cons of doing just that, he hears movement off to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a medic in a starched white uniform sitting at a desk, scrolling through one of the medical datapads. As far as Hux can tell, they’ve rolled him off to his quarters on _Starkiller_ base, probably to afford him a little privacy as he recuperates.

Seeing that Hux is awake now, the young man lowers the pad to the desk and rises to his feet. He eyes the monitor beside the bed before addressing the General.

“You’ve been out nine hours, sir,” he says, already anticipating Hux’s first question. “The surgery took three. Bone and muscle regrowth are already at 97%, but you’ll require extensive physio to return full functionality to your arm. Do you have any questions?”

 _‘Why am I lucid?’_ is on the tip of his tongue, but thankfully he’s not high enough to let that slip. Instead, he swallows and croaks, “What happened?”

“Lieutenant Kannidy will be here shortly with a full report, sir. In the meantime, I would like to do a quick assessment.”

“Proceed,” he says, wondering how this could’ve happened. His first thought is that this was the Resistance’s ‘ _Plan B’_ once they discovered he’d been compromised, but Kain was the farthest thing from a self-sacrificing human being and he hated General Organa and everything she stood for long before Hux was born. Likewise, though the Old Boys Club loathed Hux with a passion and often went to great lengths to make his life miserable, he still couldn’t see Kain putting himself in the line of fire like that just to put a damper on Hux’s big day. _Everyone_ from the old Empire was overly keen on preserving their well-being. They would’ve hired an outside assassin to do away with him if they’d really been that desperate.

Patiently, Hux answers the medic’s questions as he waits for Lt. Kannidy to arrive, and then requests that he be taken off any painkillers they plan to administer to him. Whatever’s going on here, he’ll need to clear the fog from his mind to deal with it appropriately.

Reluctantly, the medic removes the IV line from the crook of his right arm and then checks his bandages. Following the surgery, Hux’s left arm had been crossed over his chest and bound tightly against his torso to keep it immobilized. “We’ll remove the sling in two cycles,” the medic promises him. “Then we’ll start you on physio. We ask that you remain in bed until then.”

Hux almost snorts at the suggestion.

As soon as he’s alone, he’ll be up on his feet again.

Unfortunately, the medic stays with him until a small ping from the control panel beside the door signals Kannidy’s arrival. The Lt. enters the room with a stiff back and a bead of sweat on his brow. Hux can tell just by the look of him that he drew the short straw in whatever bet his fellow Lieutenants were running to deliver this report.

“You are dismissed,” Hux tells the medic.

Kannidy stands anxiously beside his bed as the medic scurries out into the hall. The door whooshes shut and Kannidy swallows, hard, mouth working silently as he searches for the appropriate words to begin.

Hux pities him, but keeps his voice neutral as he asks, a little anxious himself, “Has the Hosnian System been destroyed?”

Kannidy swallows again. “Sir—no, sir. That is to say, w-we…”

Hux didn’t realize his right hand was balled into a fist until all the tension instantly melts away from his body. He suddenly feels the sharp sting where his nails dug into the palm of his hand.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved in all his life.

“Why not?” he asks, trying to sound miffed when really he’s approaching kriffing ecstatic.

“We’re still inspecting the base for signs of sabotage,” Kannidy sputters. There’s a painful pause before he continues. “Lord Ren killed Captain Kain during the…the incident, sir. We don’t know if his actions were part of a much larger plot. Captain Prin doesn’t feel comfortable firing the weapon until we understand the reason behind this senseless attack.”

Hux was half-hoping someone would already know what Kain was up to, but this unexpected turn of events works just as well for him. Whether or not he understands _why_ he was shot, all that’s really important here is that _Starkiller’s_ big debut has been indefinitely delayed.

He takes a deep breath and tries to look like he’s mulling over this information in disappointment. “A sensible response,” he finally says. “Tell Captain Prin he has my full support.”

Something like shock slackens Kannidy’s face. His eyes dart to the empty IV stand beside Hux’s bed. It’s obvious he’s wondering if the General is only so calm and collected because of a particularly good high. “Yes, sir,” he snaps quickly.

While a full-blown inspection of the base will prevent Hux from sabotaging it on his own, it’ll certainly give the Resistance time to continue evacuating the Hosnian System. Assuming, of course, they revisited that plan in his absence.

“Is that all, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir,” Kannidy continues, looking significantly less like a man standing before a firing squad now that the worst of his report is over. “The _Supremacy_ is en route to the base now. It will be a few cycles before they arrive.”

Normally, Snoke likes to stay clear of all the action, but Hux understands why he’s swooping in for support now. If the Supreme Leader thinks the Resistance is behind the foiled assassination attempt, having the _Supremacy_ in orbit around the base would be a potent deterrent for any kind of follow-up attack.

“Very well,” Hux replies, as if he has any say in the matter. He’d prefer it if Snoke stayed the hell away, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“That’s all, sir.”

“Then you’re dismissed.”

Kannidy salutes sharply and then pivots toward the door hard enough that it’s a marvel he doesn’t topple over mid-spin. It’s even more astonishing that he doesn’t run full-tilt into the dark figure lurking on just the other side of the door as it slides swiftly open between them.

“Lord Ren!” Kannidy squawks in surprise, pulling up short.

 _“Leave,”_ Ren says, his vocoder doing little to hide the annoyance in his voice.

Kannidy salutes at him with a second sharp snap of his arm and then darts through the narrow space between Ren and the doorframe.

Hux would almost find the whole thing funny if not for the unpleasantness of having to see Ren again.

He wonders if the man knows he’s lucid, but he gets his answer soon enough when he feels Ren digging his incorporeal fingers into Hux’s mind, latching onto his surface thoughts without fear of retaliation. Hux’s next thought is why Ren would allow him to remain in this state for so long, but he’s not about to put a good thing in peril by questioning it, so he smartly keeps his mouth shut.

Once the door closes behind him, Ren waves his hand over the control panel and locks it in place. Then he reaches up to remove his helmet, turning sharply to deposit it on the desk, his sweat-slick curls obscuring Hux’s view of his face.

Curiously, Ren doesn’t immediately turn to Hux. Instead, he stares at the wall behind the desk. Pinned there is one of the oldest hypothetical designs for _Starkiller_ base. There’s nothing of importance in the minor blueprints, just a few lazy doodles his waking self drew when the First Order was still picking out a suitable planet for his project. The other-Hux only kept it for sentimentality’s sake.

As always, seeing Ren gets his adrenaline going. Hux doesn’t know what to expect from him anymore.

“It’s the best I could do in so little time,” Ren finally says, though he still refuses to turn around as he speaks. He leans forward against the desk with his hands, head bowed forward. “You’ll make a full recovery…I made sure of it.”

Hux is confused at first.

Then, ever so slowly, the pieces fall into place. Disbelief hits him next, though only briefly before it gives way to a cautious kind of hope, a feverish heat in his chest that he tries to quell before it gets the better of him. He could, after all, be interpreting this incorrectly.

He can tell that Ren is trying to read his emotions. An unusual weight settles over the pulse point in Hux’s throat. When Ren finally turns to face him, there’s a question in his eyes, a hesitant expectation of some small sign of appreciation.

“Thank you,” Hux breathes. His gratitude is genuine.

Ren looks down and away, as though he doesn’t know how to process his response. “Snoke is coming,” he says. “Once he arrives, he wants us to proceed with the Hosnian System. We’ll have to kill him before then.”

“Yes,” Hux replies. Once Snoke gets here, there will be no more second chances for the Republic. It’s now or never. “Are your Knights already in place?”

“I’ve instructed them to come here directly. We’ll board the _Supremacy_ together. At that point, we’ll proceed as originally planned.”

Hux doesn’t know if he’s mentally prepared to face off against Snoke yet, but he’s spent a lifetime flying through this mission by the skin of his teeth. He’s gotten used to not always being able to plan well-ahead for every little mishap, especially when his waking self is the cause of said mishaps.

Somehow, when the time comes, Hux knows he won’t miss the shot.

“Of course,” Hux replies, vocalizing his support. Admittedly, he’s still a little confused by Ren’s unexpected boon. Ren doesn’t need to delay the destruction of the Hosnian System for any personal reasons, and yet…

“I mean no disrespect,” Hux continues tentatively. “But why are you helping me?”

There’s a part of Hux—a part that was perhaps planted by General Organa—that hopes this is a sign. A sign of what, Hux hesitates to speculate. Perhaps a flicker of the Light shining through all those years of anger and disappointment, layered on thick with the help of Snoke’s meddling. Or perhaps simply the inkling that a haven exists for a speck of it grow in the future, should the right person come along to sow it.

Ren lifts his gaze from the floor. His brow is gently creased, as though he has an answer for Hux but doesn’t quite understand how to deliver it.

Slowly, Ren approaches the bed. Just as slowly, mindful of Hux’s injury, he takes a seat beside his left hip, an unusual parody of the night they first officially met, when the universe deemed that there would be no more secrets between them.

“The Light,” Ren begins, voice barely above a whisper, “requires solitude—requires that you remain in a constant state of self-reflection to remove yourself from the many distractions of the universe. The ‘Dark’, on the other hand…” Ren licks his lips; simultaneously, his gaze flickers to Hux’s mouth. “The Dark is unjustly named. It’s a power that dwells in every passionate soul. But every passion, whether it be _hatred_ or _love_ , requires a participant.” Here, now, Ren leans forward, bracing one hand against the pillow beside Hux’s head. Hux can feel his breath against his face. “In many ways, that participant dictates which passion rules the soul.”

Hux feels light-headed. Not frightened, like he thought he would be. More…intoxicated, like he’s staring over the edge of the cliff, too mesmerized by the crashing waves to care about the imminent fall.

“Are you capable of love?” Hux whispers faintly, inviting danger despite his better senses.

Ren gazes into his eyes, pupils blown wide, irises warm and brown. He looks angry and confused—and, perhaps, just a little afraid. “Do you care to find out?”

Hux’s gaze falls to Ren’s lips.

Ren closes the distance between them.

Hux is expecting a conquest. Instead, he’s delivered a supplication. Ren’s mouth moves gently against his own, slowly and hesitantly. Hux wonders how long Ren’s been starving for even the smallest scrape of human affection; wonders how long he’s been suffering alone.

Hux reaches up with his free hand to cup the back of his companion’s head. He tangles his fingers in Ren’s hair, a good anchoring point to show he’s interested in this speck of goodness. While Ren’s mistaken this yearning for some virtuous quality of the Dark, Hux knows it’s really just a stepping stone back into the Light. That, despite all odds, there’s still a little of Ben Solo tucked away safely inside his jaded soul.

Eventually Ren pulls away, though not by much. His breath is still hot against Hux’s face, lips red and swollen, brow still gently creased with pain. “You see it, don’t you?” he asks, something almost broken in his voice. “ _Don’t_ you?”

“I see you,” Hux whispers.

And that must be enough for Ren. He leans down again to kiss Hux on the corner of his lips, mouth migrating to the edge of his jaw, and then further still to the crook of Hux’s neck. Hux wonders if he should be really doing this, if it’s truly safe to proceed, but he knows he could never forgive himself if he didn’t give chase to this faint glimmer of Light, if he just allowed it to sputter and die in that deep, dark well of hatred that Ren’s been wallowing in for years.

Given the nature of his injury, Hux isn’t wearing a shirt or a smock. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of regulation grey drawstring pants and nothing else besides that. As Ren draws himself back to pull down the thin blanket between them, he gives Hux a questioning look. His gloved fingertips graze the pale skin just above the waistband of Hux’s pants, eager but composed.

Hux’s mind is beginning to race. He doesn’t know if he even has the supplies to do this. It’s been a while, after all, so whatever he _does_ have is bound to be expired. But there’s still a bottle of regular lotion somewhere in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, if he isn’t mistaken. They’ll have to make do with that.

Ren, still skimming his surface thoughts, leans over the side of the bed to collect the bottle. Then he sets it down on the mattress and stands up. He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the desk. His belt follows shortly after, then his tunic. Then everything else.

As he peels away his layers, he keeps his eyes pinned on Hux, his expression focused and calm. But Hux can tell—can see it in his eyes, that he’s silently relieved to finally shed this battered armor of his. That he’s proud of what lies beneath, too. As he should be. He’s muscular and pale, skin peppered with dark beauty marks across his thighs and hips. And he’s large. In more ways than one.

Completely bare, Ren approaches the bed again. Planting one knee against the mattress, he reaches for the string on Hux’s pants and tugs the knot loose, still watching Hux, still gauging his reaction.

Hux lifts his hips, easing the way for Ren to pull them down and off. His shoulder twinges a little as he shifts his weight onto it, but then Ren is suddenly kneeling over him, hand hovering over the wound.

“I’m sorry,” Ren murmurs. Hux feels warmth blossoming there, just beyond his touch, chasing away the pain. The sensation follows Ren’s hand as he draws it down the length of Hux’s arm and across his chest.

“It’s alight…”

Ren lowers his hand to Hux’s stomach, palm finally making contact with his skin, thumb stroking the dip of his navel until Ren drags his hand over to Hux’s hip. He traces the jut of his bone there for a moment. Hux feels oddly as though Ren is admiring him in return, although he knows he isn’t much to look at.

Ren inevitably abandons his slight exploration to reach for the bottle of lotion. He maneuvers farther down the bed, settling first one knee between Hux’s thighs and then the second once Hux makes room to accommodate him.

“How long has it been?” Ren asks, slipping his hands under Hux’s knees, prompting him to bend them upward.

Hux’s heart is pounding in his throat. He barely registers the question as Ren simultaneously leans forward to slip Hux’s knees up over his shoulders. “A long time,” he says, feeling faint. Technically never, if you consider the fact that his other self was always at the wheel for this kind of thing, always the one to decide who they did it with and when. Hux hasn’t initiated sex once in his lucid state.

He tries to blame his nerves on his inexperience, but it would be a lie if he said this wasn’t a reaction of some primitive part of his brain to the dark look in Ren’s eyes, that hard stare of satisfaction as Ren slowly bows his head and takes the head of Hux’s cock into his mouth.

Ren’s technically already pleasured him with his mouth once before, but Hux didn’t have to face down that predatory look then as Ren gently sucks on the first few inches. He does a marvelous job of distracting Hux as he breaches him with a finger, tentatively dipping in before exploring further, crooking it upward slightly on the pull back. Hux’s thighs quiver in the most appalling way at the odd sensation.

He reaches down with his free hand to card his own fingers through Ren’s hair, not pushing him, simply needing to brace himself against his companion in a way that affords him the illusion of control, the option of pulling Ren back if this gets to be too much. It doesn’t, and he has a feeling it won’t, but it helps him relax as Ren bobs his head lower, keeping him balanced on the precipice of pleasure as he works in a second finger and then finally a third. Despite the familiar twinge of pain, Hux is kept mostly comfortable throughout his ministrations. Regardless of the rumors, Ren is most certainly _not_ a virgin.

Eventually, Ren pulls his fantastically warm mouth off Hux and presses a kiss against the inside of his thigh. He licks at the skin there in an odd state of contentment, eyes half-lidded, earning another quiver from Hux. “Now?” he breathes.

“Now,” Hux gasps, just as Ren sucks against the spot, hard enough that Hux knows it’s going to leave a mark. He clenches down on Ren’s fingers in surprise, shuddering as the man immediately withdraws them.

Ren sits up finally, leaning forward to grab one of the spare pillows beside Hux’s head. As gently as he can, he wedges it under Hux’s hips. It’s difficult not to feel exposed in this position, even more so with Ren kneeling between his legs, slicking himself up. They have no kind of barrier on hand, he realizes suddenly.

“You’re afraid,” Ren says, still listening in on his emotions, if not his precise thoughts. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Hux says, trying to relax as Ren finally leans forward again, one hand braced beside his head as Ren guides himself in. Hux presses his knees tightly against the other man’s ribs at the first spasm of pain, grabbing Ren by the shoulder with his free hand and reflexively digging his nails in deep. He feels oddly trapped with his other arm pinned against his chest, although Ren is careful to keep his weight off it, muscles straining as he slowly rocks himself forward.

The tight coil of pain at the base of Hux’s spine gradually loosens into a slightly more bearable sense of immense pressure. Ren is, quite arguably, one of the gentlest partners he’s ever had. He watches Hux’s face carefully as he moves. And when that stare gets to be a little unnerving, Ren knowingly responds by kissing Hux on the corner of his lips, then across his face toward his temple, nosing at the sweaty clump of copper hair plastered there.

Hux twitches when he suddenly feels Ren’s hand on his hip again, wet and migrating coyly across the flat plane of his stomach. He takes Hux in hand, stroking him gently in time with his thrusts. “Yes?” he asks, moving a little quicker.

“Yes,” Hux says. It begins to feel better as Ren experiments with the angle of his thrusts, grazing Hux’s prostate, keeping time with his hand. Hux rolls his hips against him, feeling his pleasure unexpectedly mounting. “Yes,” he breathes again, closing his eyes, thighs trembling, fingers and toes and everything in between clenching down _hard_.

His orgasm hits him in a long, shuddering wave, intensifying with each pass against his prostate. Ren strokes him through it at first but then suddenly loses his rhythm, hips flexing against Hux, breathing hard against his neck. As Hux spirals down from his peak, he can feel the flood of warmth inside him, the stuttered pleasure-pain of Ren working through his own orgasm.

Remarkably, Ren doesn’t collapse against him. They stay connected for a long moment though, both trying to regain their breath.

Hux feels unbearably hot and sticky, and his shoulder hurts something fierce, and yet, as embarrassed as he is to admit it, he’s of the opinion they ended this far too quickly.

Ren extracts himself gently before rolling over onto Hux’s good side. After heaving out another deep breath of satisfaction, he grabs Hux’s free hand and holds it above them, rubbing his thumb over those bony knuckles, lost in thought.

Hux is trapped in a similar state of self-reflection. He’d always thought once his days in the First Order were through, he would meet a lovely woman somewhere and go through the same motion of vulnerability and passion with her, using his body for his own wants and needs for a change. He thought the first time he’d use his sex freely would be for the purpose of copulation instead of utilizing it as a business transaction, that he’d produce a son or daughter with it, someone whose tears he’d kiss away when they were angry or afraid, or whose praises he’d sing whenever they achieved anything, however small those achievements might be…

It’s odd then that his first real moment of contentment and companionship is spent lying beside one of the most feared men in the universe.

Admittedly Hux feels neither cheated nor elated. Just…confused.

“You see me,” Ren whispers, continuing the vein of their previous conversation as he brings Hux’s hand down to his lips. He kisses it almost reverently before lowering it to the bed. Then he sits up. “Wait here.”

Hux doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. Now that the cold of the room is leaching all the warmth and pleasure from his bones, he’s left with nothing more than a deep-seated ache.

Ren retreats into the refresher for a long while. Hux can hear him running a tap before he returns with a wet cloth. He helps Hux through a cursory wipe-down before pulling him gently upward, coaxing him off the bed and into the refresher.

“I can’t get my shoulder wet,” Hux says once he sees the tub, half-full of steaming water.

“Just sit and relax then,” Ren replies, “I’ll tidy up the bed.”

Grateful for his help, Hux settles gingerly into the hot water. Ren’s accommodating behavior helps to stave off the impending panic attack, one triggered by the memory of _who_ exactly he just had sex with. Considerably more problematic than that, though, is the realization that his other self is going to _know_ he had sex, but not when or why or with whom...

Hux cleans himself off as best he can before cautiously stepping out of the tub. The pain in his shoulder is getting a little worse. He’s going to have to lie down again soon.

Thankfully, Ren returns shortly with his drawstring pants, fully clothed himself, keeping a steady hand on Hux’s elbow as he dresses. “You’re still afraid,” Ren says. “Why?”

“Because we shouldn’t have done this,” Hux murmurs, worried. “When my other self wakes, he’s not going to know what happened. He’s going assumed he was raped.”

“I’ve already thought about that.” Ren reaches up to card a hand through Hux’s hair, coaxing Hux to face him. “I can share a few of your memories with him. Even tailor them to suit our needs. He’ll remember part of the sex.” Ren’s lips quirk into a curious little half-smile. “He’ll remember enjoying it.”

Hux has no problem admitting how enjoyable the sex was, but he finds it hard not to feel somewhat shaken by the scope of Ren’s powers. “Can you do that to anyone? Just…take and modify their memories to fit a given narrative?”

“A little.” Something hardens in Ren’s eyes, but he continues to finger at the loose strands of Hux’s hair, as though trying to remain calm and collected. “I’ve noticed the Force flows more freely through you. Your mind is consequently easier than most to manipulate…Luke and my mother left it in quite the state.”

Hux wishes they could have just _one_ conversation without bringing up the usual Skywalker family drama.

Thankfully, Ren catches on to his annoyance quickly and decides to leave the subject at that. Drawing his hand back from Hux’s hair, he says, “I was thinking of leaving you as you are for the next few cycles. You’ll be bedridden anyway. There’s little use for your other self until the _Supremacy_ arrives.”

Hux is momentarily stunned by the prospect of living as his true self for more than a few hours at a time. In all the years that his psyche has been divided, he’s never had to opportunity to remain in his lucid state for so long.

Hux is shaken from his thoughts by the unmistakable sound of a laundry droid rolling into his room through the small access door in the wall. Hux watches over Ren’s shoulder as it collects the sheets and pillowcase deposited on the floor in the far corner before it scurries away again.

Hux uses the break in their conversation to return to his bed, lying back carefully, head swimming as a fresh wave of pain washes over him. He knows it’s going to be a while yet before his arm is in working order again, but he knows it’s a small price to pay in the grander scheme of things.

“Try to rest,” Ren says as he collects his helmet off the desk. He slips it over his head, becoming more machine than man again. Hux tries to picture his face behind the mask. _“I’ll return to you before the end of the cycle.”_

“Thank you,” Hux replies quietly.

Ren inclines his head toward Hux, staring at him through the visor.

Hux wonders what he’s thinking.

But he doesn’t ask. Just watches as Ren finally unlocks the control panel and disappears into the corridor, leaving Hux in a fuzzy state, heavy with exhaustion.

Shifting into a semi-comfortable position on the bed, Hux closes his eyes and allows himself to drift, banishing all thought of his usual nauseating tune from mind.

Sleep comes easier to him now than it ever did before.

~***~

He dreams of the forest still wet with rain. Grey storm clouds roil madly overhead, blocking out the sun.

Hux pushes his way through the trees until he reaches the lake. Their lake, the one with the crystal clear water where Hux used to while away his hours swimming and the large overhanging boulder where Luke used to fish.

Hux doesn’t see Luke on the boulder or in the water or on the beach.

He digs his toes into the damp sand and looks down where he once played chess with General Organa. If he listens carefully, can almost hear her voice through the thundering patter of rain, its wet rhythmic slap against the surface of the water growing steadily louder. If he thinks about it hard enough, he imagines she sounds a little frightened.

She sounds like she’s trying to talk someone out of making a very big mistake.

Tired, Hux turns back around and scans the treeline.

But still, no Luke.

~***~

He wakes to the sound of human voices, closer and clearer to him than anything he could possibly dream of.

He opens his eyes to see a medic standing on either side of his bed. One is checking his bandages while the other is asking Hux to rate his pain on a scale of 1-10. Groggy, he goes with ‘5’, even if it’s worse than that, and then asks them to bring him a sling he can wear over his uniform.

His request startles a small laugh out of the woman going through the questionnaire. She quickly swallows down the sound, fixes her features into a neutral expression, and says, “We recommend that you remain in bed for the next two cycles, sir. We’ll bring you a proper sling once you’re ready to be mobile.”

“I know,” he says, pushing himself up weakly. The man on his left is forced to assist him. “Now go get it.”

He doesn’t know why, but he feels restless. He’s not a lax man by nature, but with Snoke’s assassination fast approaching and the Hosnian System still perched precariously in the line of fire, he’s more agitated than normal. He needs to get moving again. He needs to see, firsthand, what’s going on outside his quarters.

The woman radios for someone to bring up a cloth sling while the other medic goes about unraveling the bandages pinning his arm to his chest. He also changes the gauze over the wound itself, smearing the puckered pink flesh with more bacta, and then helps Hux into his uniform.

The third medic arrives with Lt. Kannidy hot on his heels. Kannidy still looks nervous, but considerably less so than earlier. “Sir,” he says, trying to sound firm. He’s blinking too much, which is a dead giveaway to his anxiety, but Hux is proud of him for trying nonetheless. “Lord Ren was explicit. You are not to strain yourself. You are to remain—”

“Lord Ren is my co-commander,” Hux sighs, curious as to why Ren would deliver any kind of orders pertaining to his well-being. “Not my superior. If he has any issues with the state of my health, he can tell me to my face.”

“Well…” Kannidy has lost his gumption now. Hux can tell by the way he pales that he isn’t too keen on relaying any such message to Ren. “He only returned about an hour ago, sir.”

Something _pinches_ at the back of Hux’s brain. “Returned from where, Lieutenant?”

Kannidy whips out the datapad tucked under his arm to check his most recent report. “Uh…Takodana. One of Lord Ren’s operatives spotted the droid there.”

Hux knows trying to talk Ren out of this eternal manhunt for his old mentor is a losing game, but discovering Ren is now _that much closer_ to getting his hands on Luke is nothing short of a waking nightmare. “He has the droid?” Hux asks, his voice going marginally hoarse with fear.

“No, sir. But he apprehended someone who’s seen the map.”

“Who?”

“A…girl, I believe?” Kannidy hazards as he skims the report a second time. “She’s from Jakku. Apparently, Lord Ren just completed his first interrogation session with her.”

Hux’s knees feel weak.

The medic with the cloth sling edges closer to him, situating himself to catch Hux if he falls. With any luck, they’ll chalk up his unsteady stance to his grievous injury and not as a reaction to this dismal report.

“And the results?” Hux inquires as he carefully maneuvers his arm into the sling. He almost wishes he hadn’t forgone the painkillers earlier.

Kannidy swallows. “The session was inconclusive. He’s en route to a meeting with the Supreme Leader in the holochamber now.”

Obviously, a lot has happened since Hux allowed himself to indulge in a few measly hours of rest.

Hux brushes away his great coat when one of the medics offers it to him. His shoulder is already lamenting the small workout he’s putting it through without having to deal with the added weight of the coat.

As the medic scrambles to hang it back up in the closet, he ponders over what he needs to do first to mitigate the effects of this disaster in the making. Honestly, he doesn’t really know where to start, only that he can’t do anything without knowing all the details. From there, he can perhaps determine how soon Ren plans to act on whatever information he inevitably gleans on Luke.

“I want to see the recording of their session,” Hux snaps, pushing his way past Kannidy into the corridor.

“Sir!” Kannidy calls after him.

Hux halts momentarily to stare back at the bewildered gaggle of men and women on his tail. “Dismissed,” he snaps. “All of you.”

Kannidy’s mouth works comically as he searches for an appropriate retort, but eventually he settles on shooing the medics away as Hux storms down the corridor to Surveillance. More than once, a startled officer stops dead in their track to ogle him as he breezes past, no doubt expecting him to still be bedridden for the next little while. Hux ignores them as he bursts into the surveillance room on deck 5.

An immediate hush falls over the room as every head whips in his direction. Captain Heff, the woman in charge of surveillance on the base, clips her right hip smartly against the corner of a console as she rushes over to greet him.

“Sir,” she salutes, eyeing his shoulder and the sling. “We were told you were indispo—”

“Lord Ren interrogated a prisoner today,” he interjects coolly. He knows the report was ‘inconclusive’, but there’s a part of him that yearns for even the smallest clue to Luke’s current whereabouts. He’ll take anything at all that could potentially help him get a warning out to the man. “Who was monitoring the session?”

One of the officers at the far back of the room jumps to his feet and salutes. “Sir!”

“Show me.”

The officer drops swiftly back into his seat, fingers flying over his keyboard as he pulls up the recording. Heff sputters unintelligently behind Hux as they join the man at his console. Hux takes the proffered headphones and presses one of the cups against his ear, watching the blank screen as the officer types in the appropriate code to review the footage.

Then Hux finally sees her, the curious girl from Jakku.

She’s a young thing, but not a ‘girl’, per se. Just an ordinary woman a little tanned from the sun and still covered in dirt, her pale clothes weathered by sand and wind, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong sort of people. She’s strapped into an interrogation chair, a victim of poor choices and even poorer circumstances, her eyes closed, clearly unconscious.

Ren is crouched down before her, helmet on, eerily still.

Suddenly, the woman jolts awake in her restraints. Even from the solitary camera high up in the corner of the room, Hux can tell she’s afraid. There’s a thick sheen of sweat on her face. She glances worriedly at her bindings, clearly confused by her situation, until she takes note of the dark figure watching her. She swallows.

Hux knows what she’s feeling, the cold grip of fear that seizes the heart when you’re pinned under Kylo Ren’s steely gaze.

 _“Where am I?”_ she asks. The microphone in the camera is powerful enough to pick up even the slight tremble in her voice. She’s trying to sound stern, but the pressure she’s under is unmistakable.

 _“You’re my guest.”_ Ren replies, a mocking lilt in his voice.

Something warm and noisome turns over inside Hux’s stomach.

 _“Where are the others?”_ the woman presses.

 _“Do you mean the murderers, traitors, and thieves you call friends?”_ The venom in Ren’s voice is real. Hux doesn’t need much convincing to recognize that Ren believes every word of what he just said, that his mind is very much still on track with everyone else in the First Order. _“You’ll be relieved to hear I have no idea.”_

There’s a tense pause as the woman tries to stare him down, searching for the truth.

Ren barely moves. _“You still want to kill me.”_

 _“That happens when you’re being hunted by a creature in a mask,”_ she sneers, demonstrating a great deal of courage for someone in her position. Only Hux doesn’t know if it’s because of her sheer will to defy Ren or if it’s because she doesn’t quite understand the gravity of the situation she’s in.

There’s another pause as Ren gauges the quickest way to unsettle her.

Remarkably, he hooks his thumbs under the clasps of his mask and pinches them open.

His mask swings forward and up before he pulls it smoothly off his head, rising to his feet. The girl blinks at him in surprise as he walks over to a small table adjacent to them and slams it down, kicking up a small plume of ash—

“Pause it,” Hux says, eyeing the screen. Suddenly, he realizes they aren’t in one of the standard interrogation rooms. “…Is Lord Ren aware that you’ve set up a camera in his room?”

The communications officer shares an uneasy look with Cpt. Heff. Clearing her throat, Heff shifts uneasily from one foot to the other before she says, “We recently received two missives from the _Finalizer_ , sir. One from you. The other from Captain Phasma. I thought, perhaps…”

“Remove the equipment at your earliest convenience,” Hux sighs, marveling at her stupidity. “Not unless you _want_ to give him an excuse to kill you.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds weakly.

Hux knows Ren has a habit of taking his captives far from prying eyes, although usually only when he wants to break from protocol and try an interrogation method that would be considered unorthodox, even by their standards. Of course, Ren could’ve chosen a private venue with this woman so that he could remove his mask without fear of scrutiny, but Ren doesn’t normally operate with that level of foresight.

“Continue,” Hux says, that uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

On the screen, Ren rounds back on his captive. _“Tell me about the droid.”_

The woman swallows and blurts out a very basic answer in an obvious attempt to derail him. _“He’s a BB unit with a selenium drive and a thermal hyperscan vindicator—"_

 _“It’s carrying a section of a navigational chart and we have the rest recovered from the archives of the Empire,”_ Ren interjects smoothly, just a hint of annoyance evident in his voice. _“But we need the last piece. And somehow you convinced the droid to show it to you… **You**.”_ Ren furrows his brow in disbelief. _“A **scavenger** …”_

Hux hates the way he says that—hates Ren’s ever-present elitism. _Hates_ how Ren is the son of a princess, and a Force-user, and yet he _doesn’t_ understand how truly _good_ the universe has been to him up to now.

The woman looks down and away from Ren, unnerved.

Ren gives a small shake of his head, as if dismissing her fear. As if it doesn’t _mean_ anything at all.

 _“You know I can take whatever I want,”_ he says suddenly, so _casually_ that it sends a sliver of fear through Hux’s heart.

That cold, cruel thing in his stomach clenches a little harder.

Hux feels like he’s going to be ill.

The woman, predictably, winces and turns her face away as Ren raises a hand to her temple, crowding in close, feeding off her discomfort.

 _“You’re so lonely,”_ he says softly, pushing past her defences and injecting himself somewhere deep within her mind, somewhere that she’s soft and vulnerable. _“So afraid to leave…At night, desperate to sleep, you imagine an ocean. I see it…”_ Ren’s breath hitches a little here, like he’s found something truly delightful. It sounds obscene in Hux’s ear. _“I see the island…And Han Solo. You feel like he’s the father you never had.”_ His voice hardens. _“He would have disappointed you—”_

 _“Get out of my head!”_ she cries, no longer able to withstand this violation.

Ren takes a step back, slowly, his hand still extended. _“I know you’ve seen the map,”_ he says smugly, content with the demonstration of his power. _“And now you’ll give it to me.”_

Hux braces himself.

This is the part where most people crack. Depending on how hard they struggle, Ren can drive them to the point of insanity, somewhere they’re no longer able to tell the difference between dream and reality.

The woman strains against him.

 _“Don’t be afraid,”_ Ren says, patronizingly calm. _“I feel it too.”_

 _“I’m not giving you anything,”_ the woman snaps—and Hux has to give her credit. Not many people are capable of stringing together a cohesive sentence by now.

 _“We’ll see,”_ Ren murmurs, doubling his efforts.

The woman’s body trembles as she fights to keep him out, face pinched in pain, eyes flashing fiercely.

Within the violated temple of his own mind, Hux finds himself quietly praying for her success.

 _“You,”_ the woman chokes out, features relaxing just a little. _“You’re afraid.”_

Hux’s grip on the headphones tightens, but his reaction is fueled by the blossom of warmth in his chest, that ever-elusive spark of hope.

Ren’s face crumples with anger and confusion. A shudder passes down the length of his arm as he tries to bend her to his will.

Bolstered, the woman continues, digging her heels in deep. Hux has never seen someone reverse the connection before, flinging Ren’s game right back in his face. _“—That you will never be as strong as Darth Vader.”_

Ren pulls his hand back as though he’s been burned.

Something cries out triumphantly in Hux.

Though he knows he will _never_ have the ability to push back against Ren the way she just did, he feels good in knowing this strange woman won’t be subjected to the same brand of humiliation and defeat Hux has been forced to endure.

On the screen, surprise flashes across Ren’s face, quickly chased away by an ugly sneer. With a wave of his hand, he tears the woman away from the conscious world. Her body crumples in her restraints.

“That’s enough,” Hux says, handing the headphones back to the officer. He still feels ill and weak, but he knows it has little to do with his injury now.

Ren was right all those times they most recently argued.

Returning to the Light doesn’t seem like a feasible feat for a man like him anymore. He’s well beyond that path now.

Hux feels like a fool for ever allowing himself to think otherwise, but his fear at the moment wins out over any sense of personal betrayal. He doesn’t know whether to confront Ren or steer clear of him as best he can until the _Supremacy_ arrives. Of course, it’s Ren’s _job_ to interrogate prisoners, but Hux has known the man long enough by now to recognize when Ren is simply going through the motions of his work or when he’s genuinely enjoying the task at hand. This show of force with the woman…it was…

It was a bit of _play_ on Ren’s part.

Up until toying with his victim was no longer fun, of course.

“Sir?” Heff asks quietly. “You don’t look too well.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, straightening himself up again. He waves his hand at the console. “Delete that.”

Heff nods at her subordinate, who jumps to obey. Then she says, “Do you want me to contact someone in Medbay, sir? One of my officers could escort you there.”

“No,” he replies, turning away sharply.

Before he does anything else at all, he needs to plan an exit strategy for this ‘girl’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: …Although, as we all know, Rey is _just_ as capable of getting herself out of trouble as she is at jumping headfirst into it.
> 
> Anyway---Hux, my man, just...just _run_ already. Go while you still can, you moron...


	10. Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Between the many Easter festivities and work, this ran away from me for a little while. I'm really sorry about the terribly long wait.

_“Imprisonment is as irrevocable as death.”_

― George Bernard Shaw

~***~

Time is not on his side.

Hux comes to this conclusion as he’s marching down the corridors to Ren’s quarters. While the base is not much larger than one of their Star Destroyers, each step between the surveillance hub and Ren’s prisoner is a jarring reminder of his injury. He’s almost completely metabolized the painkillers he was administered earlier, and the sharp throbbing twinge in the remodeled muscle and bone in his shoulder has intensified to the point where he _needs_ to stop, despite the picture he must paint leaning against the wall, arm bound, wincing in agony.

More than once, he waves off a concerned subordinate who tries to redirect him to the Medbay. He channels his other self in these moments, snapping at the bolder officers when it looks like they’re gearing themselves up to disobey. Then he presses onward, hoping he reaches the woman before anything else goes awry.

He almost makes it.

He’s less than fifty paces from his destination when he senses movement in the corner of his eye. A shadow stirs in the corridor to his left, moving quietly into position behind him. He’s only begun to turn his head to address his pursuer when a large hand hooks itself over his right elbow and pulls him bodily aside.

Hux nearly trips over his feet as he’s redirected into a small conference room, the door sliding open just before he collides head-on with it before quickly snapping shut again behind them. The hand on his elbow pivots him sharply around before he’s shoved back against the wall beside the door. Through the haze of his pain, he catches a glimpse of a scuffed black and chromatic mask.

Once again, Ren has the upper hand.

Hux sucks in a sharp breath, willing away the hot throb of agony in his shoulder. Ren doesn’t manhandle him much beyond that point, but he’s still standing too close, still loosely gripping Hux’s good arm in his hand. It makes Hux feel claustrophobic on top of every other discomfort he’s had to endure today.

 _“You’re afraid,”_ Ren muses, his voice a soft hiss through the vocoder. He lifts his chin a little, as though tasting the air.

Hux can feel Ren poking around inside his brain, bright bursts of light and color flashing behind his eyes as Ren burrows his way in.

Hux’s pulse jumps in his throat.

After a beat, Ren lowers his face again. _“You were going to release the girl.”_

He doesn’t say it like a question. Not an accusation either.

More like an unsurprising fact, one that’s almost laughable.

There’s nothing Hux can say to defend himself on that regard, so he goes straight for the _real_ meat of the matter.

“What happens after you kill Snoke?” he asks, revisiting one of his original concerns, a question Ren left unanswered. Back then, he thought Ren glazed over it because he didn’t have a plan. Now, he’s not so sure. “You can leave the First Order and do anything you want. Why are you still wasting your time on Luke?”

_“Who said anything about leaving?”_

That cold clench of dread is back.

Hux doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe another spiel about the interpretation of good versus evil. This is terribly blunt.

This, he supposes, is what you get when the _real_ mask is off.

Ren is still poking around inside his head and probably catches that stray thought. Predictably, he removes his helmet, as if he’d almost forgotten how hard it is to fake empathy without facial expressions.

Hux wishes he would leave it on.

Ren eyes him up, looking entirely too calm for the sudden tension between them. Coolly, he says, “Once Snoke is dead, the throne will be mine. There will be no more of his petty games. No more of his war profiteering…Together, then, we’ll finally bring true order to the galaxy.”

His confession is like a punch to the gut.

“No,” Hux says, shaking his head. As terrified as he is, he can be firm in this. “I’m not helping you.”

Those are the magic words, it appears, the ones that stir up Ren’s anger, his one true emotion, the altar upon which he will always gladly lay down his life. He moves in even closer, his breath warm against Hux’s face. Involuntarily, it reminds Hux that this isn’t even the closest they’ve been before, that Ren’s physical proximity was once briefly welcomed, even if his consent was ill-gotten. How odd it is to have really been a world away from him all this time.

“You _will_ take the shot when the time comes,” Ren seethes, dark eyes flashing, the leather of his glove creaking as he rolls his free hand into a fist at his side. His grip on Hux’s arm also tightens, hard enough to bruise. “Otherwise, Snoke will discover your little secret. Then, _through_ you he will find the link back to my mother, the one she and my uncle made for their nightly visits.”

He pauses here, as though to give that statement time to sink in. Which is does, like a lead weight inside Hux’s chest, settling in the hallowed place that houses all his fondness for the General.

“Just think of all that he can accomplish with her under his thumb. He’ll snuff out the Resistance and its allies in a manner of cycles,” Ren whispers. “He might even keep you alive long enough to watch their demise.”

Hux has no doubt Ren’s right about that, but he’s been surrounded by sycophants and tyrants all his life. He knows how this story goes, knows what happens when one madman is inevitably replaced by another. “And what you’re planning is so much better, I suppose.”

“ _I_ can be merciful,” Ren hisses—and there it is again, that spasm of pain between his brows, that seemingly innocent facial twitch that tweaks one’s heartstrings. Admittedly, Hux’s nerves waver. He can’t tell if Ren’s reaction is a true emotion, or if he’s just _that_ good of a sociopath.

Naturally, Ren tries to latch onto that thread of doubt. He finally loosens his grip. “Your other self is admittedly clever, but you’re the true mastermind. You’re the one who’s…human.” His hand trails up Hux’s arm to touch his shoulder. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “With you by my side, I could be just. I could be human too.”

Hux shrugs his shoulder to dislodge Ren’s hand. Surprisingly, Ren looks mildly concerned, as though doesn’t see what’s wrong here.

“A part of something does not define the whole of it,” Hux replies. “Having one or two qualities of a benevolent ruler won’t _make_ you a benevolent ruler in the end, least of all if you’re relying on someone else to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

“No ruler is entirely benevolent. Internally, they’re always at war with their own hopes and ideals. Like my mother.” Slowly, as if dealing with a skittish animal, Ren raises his hand again. This time he rests it against the side of Hux’s neck. His gaze falls on Hux’s lips. “She was kept in check by her people. I can be kept in check by you.”

Ren leans in to kiss him.

This is an echo of their last conversation. Ren needs a ‘participant’, but Hux doesn’t know if that’s true. If not, it just shows how good Ren’s gotten at spinning gold with his tongue; if it is true, Hux doesn’t think he can stomach the thought of being used as a conduit for an acolyte of the Dark Side.

So Hux turns his face away.

He is not a whore.

There’s a weighty moment of silence before the hand on his neck slides up to the hinge of his jaw, fingers and thumb digging into the soft tissue there. Hux grabs Ren’s wrist on reflex. A soft sound of pain passes between his lips as Ren turns his face forward and presses him harder against the wall.

“Do _not_ turn away from me,” he hisses. There’s a watery sheen to his eyes, a whiff of desperation in his voice as his gaze roams across Hux’s face. “Don’t make me choose him over you,” he breathes. “You know what he’s capable of. Think of all the terrible things he’ll do once I set him loose.” 

Hux squirms against the wall, digging his nails into Ren’s wrist. This continued theme of helplessness is beginning to wear away at him. He would like to think he can weasel his way out of this situation, but Ren holds all the cards here. There isn’t a plausible threat he could utter to save himself.

There’s a gathering of heat in the corner of his eyes, the burning prickle of tears from the mounting pain and humiliation of defeat.

His only recourse is to obey and hope for the best.

Gradually, Ren relinquishes his hold, slipping his hand down to the collar of Hux’s uniform. He pauses to stare at the pale sliver of flesh above the sharp cut of black cloth before taking a step back. His strained expression goes lax, taking on an air of indifference as he finally replaces his helmet with a pneumatic hiss.

Hux swallows back his tears before they can fall. He takes a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. He feels stripped down. Weak.

But he’s always been weak.

The door slides open as Ren passes out into the hall, where he waits for Hux to join him. With great difficulty, Hux follows, eyes still downcast, wondering what will happen between now and Snoke’s arrival.

He wonders, too, what will come after.

 _“You,”_ Ren says sharply, prompting Hux to finally lift his head. He realizes his co-commander is waving over two stormtroopers. _“Escort the General to Medbay and remind Captain Flynn that he is restricted to bed-rest until further notice. You will stay with him until the Supremacy arrives.”_ Ren inclines his head toward Hux as if studying him before turning back to the troopers. _“If his condition worsens due to any inability on your part to confine his movements, your lives are forfeit. Is that clear?”_

Even weighted down by their armor, they stiffen noticeably. _“Yes, sir,”_ they say in unison.

Hux stiffens too. As badly as he needs the rest, he’s liable to go mad if he’s forced to while away the hours alone in a bed as he waits for Snoke’s arrival.

He needs to get out of here.

Ren turns to him again, as if daring him to entertain that thought in earnest.

Hux tries to banish it from his mind.

There will be no escape.

“Sirs!”

Their heads snap in together toward the far end of the corridor, to a young lieutenant making a beeline for their small group. He looks happy.

Hux’s stomach turns in trepidation.  

“Sirs,” the man says again once he’s at a reasonable distance. He snaps a quick salute, a little out of breath, as though he’d been scouring the base in search of them. “A Resistance reconnaissance ship was spotted in orbit an hour ago. We’ve since tracked it to the Ileenium System.”

There’s a moment where Hux struggles to interpret this news through the haze of all the stress that’s already been heaped upon his psyche today. Then he feels his core temperature plummeting as he finally realizes the implication of this report.

He’d warned Leia about their tracking systems before— _told_ her that the First Order could chase just about any ship through lightspeed…

He needs to sit down.

One of the stormtroopers steps forward, hesitantly reaching forward to hook his hand around Hux’s elbow to steady him. It still hurts from when Ren grabbed him, but Hux makes no effort to brush the man off. Honestly, he needs the physical support right now.

“General?” the lieutenant asks quietly.

 _“Begin charging the weapon,”_ Ren says, in no way acknowledging Hux’s internal conflict.

“What?” both Hux and the lieutenant ask in unison.

The lieutenant alone takes his protest one step further. “But we haven’t completed our inspection yet,” he says. “Captain Kain—”

 _“Was most likely operating alone,”_ Ren interjects, the tone of his voice leaving no room for disagreement. _“The Supreme Leader is confident the weapon was not sabotaged. Have it prepared to fire before his arrival. He will choose which System will be the first to fall.”_ Slowly, Ren turns to Hux. _“We will discuss the matter with him in person.”_

The unspoken warning here is clear: if Hux makes any attempt to botch Snoke’s assassination, the Supreme Leader will be poised and ready to destroy everything Hux has been so desperately trying to protect.

Either Snoke dies or the weapon fires, as intended.

The proverbial hammer falls yet again. No amount of conniving on Hux’s part is going to mitigate this impending disaster if he doesn’t comply.

Internally, he crumples into the blow.

Numbly, he nods.

The lieutenant snaps another sharp salute and practically sprints down the corridor to relay his orders to whoever is currently commanding the bridge.

Ren watches the young man depart in silence before turning to Hux. He bows his head, mocking him. _“Rest well, General,”_ he says, then pivots sharply on his heel to stalk off in the opposite direction, no doubt eager to squeeze his prisoner for whatever information he still requires on Luke.

Hux continues to feel cold and a little out of touch with reality as he watches Ren’s retreating form. Neither stormtrooper moves to interrupt his peculiar reverie.

“I’m going to the bridge,” he says once Ren vanishes around the corner.

 _“Sir?”_ The trooper at his side inquires, the fear evident in his voice. Hux might be his true superior, but Ren has never made a death threat he didn’t mean to keep.

“It’s not far,” Hux replies. It was closer than the Medbay, at least. “Comm Captain Flynn to send one of her medics over. I want to watch my weapon charge.”

Which is partially true. Mostly, he just doesn’t want to lie in bed and wait for his fate to unfold at the hands of a sociopath. He also wants to face his greatest failure head-on as it works its evil machinations, to watch as the nearby star is drained of its vitality as a form of self-immolation. Because whatever happens after Ren rises to power—assuming he succeeds, of course—Hux feels he needs to burn this calamity into mind as a reminder to never waste another opportunity to cut his enemies off at the knees. He shouldn’t have allowed this weapon to reach completion in the first place. He should’ve left the First Order long ago, before his waking self ever pitched his plans for the weapon to the Supreme Leader.

In fact, he should’ve never returned at all.

The stormtroopers stare at one another for a long moment, clearly hesitant to deny his request, despite the fact that his co-commander, and likely Snoke, wanted to relieve him of his command while he recuperated. 

“I’m not going to let him kill you,” Hux says, as calmly as he can. He knows his waking self would’ve bitten their heads off by now for their insubordination, but Hux always had a difficult time being strict with the troops, especially knowing they were literal slaves of the First Order.

Not too unlike himself, he thinks humorlessly.

Somehow, his soft touch does the trick. _“Do you require support?”_ the stormtrooper at his arm asks as he cautiously releases his grip on Hux. The other trooper, meanwhile, relays Hux’s message to Medbay.

“I think I can manage for now,” he replies, starting down the corridor at a slow pace, a trooper flanking him on either side, one step behind.

The pain in his shoulder continues to worsen as he walks. When he arrives on the bridge, he’s forced to take a seat at the far back before he topples over, well away from the viewports and the hubbub of activity among his officers. Even from this distance though, he can see a long streak of light just outside the windows, the steady stream of energy that _Starkiller_ is currently sucking away from the sun. Very soon, the snowy landscape will darken as the breath of the behemoth swells beneath their feet, waiting for the moment Snoke passes judgement on either the Hosnian or Ileenium System.

Rather belatedly, Captain Prin finally takes notice of him. He skids to a rather undignified halt between inspecting one station and another before he redirects himself toward Hux.

“General,” he salutes, seemingly embarrassed. “I apologize. I was told you were indisposed.”

“I’m not here to take over command of the bridge,” Hux clarifies. He feels lightheaded.

“Yes, well…” Prin licks his lips nervously.

Hux squints at the Captain. Unless he’s mistaken, Prin is sweating.

An odd sort of warmth settles his chest, cutting through the cold haze of his shock. Hux hesitates to call it hope. “What’s the matter?” he asks, because Prin is not normally one to lose his composure in an emergency. “Is there something wrong with the weapon?”

“No,” Prin says quickly. Hux tries not to let his disappointment show. “The weapon is operating perfectly. The girl, however…well, she has yet to be found.”

Hux blinks in confusion.

Then it dawns on him…

“The prisoner from Takodana?” he asks, even though that’s the only plausible answer.

“Yes.” Prin glances over his shoulder at one of the nearby stations. A woman there is looking over a holoprojection of _Starkiller’s_ blueprints, relaying bright red alarm locations to someone on the other end of her headset.

“We believe she’s currently somewhere in hanger 718,” Prin continues weakly.

That’s quite a ways from Ren’s quarters, meaning she likely escaped sometime soon after her interrogation period.

Hux can’t help but marvel at her tenacity and resourcefulness. Coupled with her unusual ability to go toe to toe with Ren on a higher psychological level, he’s beginning to wonder if she isn’t a Force user herself. It would certainly explain why she’s been able to creep throughout the base relatively unseen. Hux has seen Ren pull that little stunt before, seemingly appearing out of thin air on the bridge whenever the whim took him. It’s an annoying trick, but it certainly suits a predator like Ren.

It also suits his prey, obviously. With any luck, she just might escape the base alive, although Hux can’t even begin to imagine what her plans are beyond that. Unless she’s able to commandeer a ship undetected, she won’t get very far.

Even so, a part of him rejoices at her current liberty.

Ren must be _livid_.

“I’m assuming Lord Ren is aware of the situation?” Hux asks, somewhat wirily.

“Yes, sir,” Prin says, voice tight with nerves. This explains his uncharacteristic anxiety. Ren probably threatened death upon anyone and everyone if they didn’t locate his prisoner within the hour.

“Sirs?” The woman monitoring the blueprints swivels her chair halfway around to face them. She has one hand on her headset, still allocating the brunt of her attention to the incoming message. “718 is clear. Lord Ren is requesting that we put every hanger on lock-down.”

Hux can’t help himself. “Is he truly that uncertain of his abilities to apprehend a mere girl?” he muses, for once happily adopting his waking self’s snide demeaner.

The corner of Prin’s lip quirks into a brief smile. “Perhaps,” he murmurs before turning to his officer. “Relay his order to the hangers. And comm Captain Phasma again. She should’ve been here by now.”

“She’s missing?” Hux inquires. How unlike her.

Prin stares at him like he doesn’t know what to say.

Hux waves him off before Prin’s concerns can get the better of the man. “As you were, Captain.”

Prin nods and hotfoots it back over to his officers, making a beeline for Lieutenant Kannidy. “Report,” he orders.

Lieutenant Kannidy looks up from his station. “Weapon charged in fifteen minutes, sir.”

Hux shifts uneasily in his chair.

In the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a flurry of movement, two medics in white garments marching double-pace onto the bridge. Hux recognizes the blond woman from before, the one who begrudgingly gave him the sling.

“Sir,” she says, somewhat tightly. She hefts a grey medical satchel onto the console beside him. The two stormtroopers guarding him take a step back to give her space. “Lord Ren was explicit—”

“You can escort me to Medbay once the weapon is finished charging,” he sighs.

She glances toward the viewports, lips pursed. Clearly, she disagrees, but is apparently mesmerized by the shimmering beam of light, something she might never witness again considering how far underground the Medbay is located.

After a stunned moment, she shakes her head and opens her bag. She pulls out a small glass vial and a needle. “This will help with the pain,” she says, eyeing him as if expecting him to decline the painkillers yet again. Met with no resistance this time, she finally nods at her companion. “Brose—his sleeve, please?”

The other medic circles around to Hux’s good arm. “Permission to touch, sir?”

“Permission granted.”

He rolls Hux’s sleeve up above his elbow as the woman fills the syringe, tapping it expel any air bubbles. The shot itself is quick work. The medic rolls his sleeve back down once it’s finished as the woman deposits the used needle in a plastic container before whipping a datapad out of her bag.

“On a scale of one to ten—”

Hux almost rolls his eyes. “ _Later_.”

She gives him another tight-lipped look and types a quick note into her datapad. She glances again at the viewport, then back at him. Softer now, trying to placate him, she says. “Sir, the longer we wait here—”

Hux is beginning to feel a little blissed out from the drugs, but his annoyance still pierces through the fog. “Ten minutes,” he snaps. “Can this not wait _ten_ minutes?”

Stiffly, she says. “Yes, sir. It can wait.” Then she turns to stare back across the bridge at the viewports.

With almost comic timing, an alarm goes off at one of the stations.

All heads whip around toward the young man frantically pulling up a flashing red schematic of _Starkiller_ base. Pale-faced, he swivels toward Captain Prin and says, “Our shields are down!”

There’s a moment of horrified silence before Prin jumps into action, barking orders, demanding to know whether this is a flaw in their system or if it looks like someone’s meddling. Given Kain’s assassination attempt against Hux and the fact that Ren’s prisoner is still on the loose, Hux has no doubt they’re all anxiously anticipating an imminent attack.

So is he, even if he knows the assassination attempt was a hoax. He wonders if this is the work of the woman from Jakku or if General Organa was able to slip one of her agents inside earlier, as she always intended. Either way, Hux can feel that swell of hope returning. It feels good after the way he was rattled by Ren.

But hope can be a dangerous thing in the wrong dose, so he tries to stomp down the feeling as he looks over at the medics and says, “You should return to Medbay. I suspect you’ll be needed there soon.”

“Sir,” the woman says, “we won’t be leaving here without you.”

“Depending on what happens next, you might not be able to spare me the bed.” Hux returns his focus to the viewport. “You are dismissed.”

The two medics share a long look before she finally snatches up her satchel and briskly marches toward the exit, clearly hoping Ren doesn’t catch wind of their inability to rein him in.

His two stormtroopers wisely opt to say nothing.

Just as he was hoping, the situation escalates from there. Less than a minute after their shields go offline, a small squadron of X-wings drop out of lightspeed over the base. Hux can see them tumbling gracefully through the sky above the neighboring mountains.

There’s an uproar in the bridge as the officers scramble to get an order out for the deployment of their TIE-fighters. Hux slowly rises to his feet, feeling anxious in his own way, a unique blend of fear and excitement.

Suddenly, there’s a low rumble in the distance. The ground beneath their feet quakes gently in response.

“They’re targeting the oscillator!” someone yells.

 _“Sir?”_ the stormtrooper on his right hesitantly inquires.

“You are dismissed,” Hux says.

Neither stormtrooper budges an inch.

If he could get a moment alone, he just might be able to make a break for it. But he supposes this is fine too, watching the destruction of his waking self’s beloved weapon as it unfolds. If he dies here, so be it.

Calmly, he makes his way across the bridge toward the viewports. One of the lieutenants there turns to him as if to voice his concerns, but a sharp look from Hux prompts him to hold his tongue. He is then left in relative peace to watch the X-wings circling back over the oscillator for a second bombing before scrambling away from the incoming squadron of TIE-fighters. All at once, the sky is dotted with a hundred tiny ships, buzzing all around, chasing and giving chase, every now and again spiraling down toward the earth…

Unfortunately, Hux doesn’t need to listen to the pandemonium behind him to know the X-wings haven’t done much damage. If he’d had more time before Ren discovered his deception, he would’ve instructed Organa to mount her initial attack with a much larger ship. Because unless someone weakens the oscillator from within, those X-wings won’t be enough to do the trick.

Eventually, he is approached by another officer. She doesn’t wait for him to dismiss her before she quickly says, “Supreme Leader Snoke is requesting an update on the situation from you in the holochamber, sir.”

“In a minute,” he says, least of all because he doesn’t want to relinquish his power over his body just yet. Never minding how disastrous it would be for his waking self to rise back to consciousness midway through a shift on the bridge, Hux doesn’t know how the man would handle being unceremoniously dropped in the middle of a battle against the Resistance. There’s no way he wouldn’t suspect someone was playing mind games with him.

“But, sir—”

“Have you nothing better to do?” he snaps.

She sputters for a moment, clutching her datapad close to her chest before beating a hasty retreat to her station.

There’s a second rumble in the distance as the X-wings manage to coordinate another concentrated attack on the oscillator. Prin is a little red in the face as he continues to bark orders, knowing all too well that his head will roll for this if he doesn’t get the situation under control soon. Having to deal with an assassination attempt and a secret attack from the Resistance all in the same day is taking its toll on him.

Alone with his thoughts, Hux keeps his eyes trained on the rapidly diminishing sun. The windows of the viewports are designed to protect them from the UV light, but even without the dark sheen Hux knows the weapon is almost finished charging. In another moment or so, the star will be extinguished.

“Weapon at full capacity in five seconds!” someone hollers.

“Target the Ileenium System,” Captain Prin seethes. “Fire when ready.”

Hux whips his head around in horror. He opens his mouth to protest.

But just as the sky goes dark, it happens.

There’s a succession of blasts in the distance, one right after the other. The X-wings are scattered far and wide overhead, frantically dodging the TIE-fighters. Hux knows they’re not the source of this attack.

Someone is targeting the oscillator from within.

There’s another thunderous blast, this one powerful enough to topple him over into one of the stormtroopers. Many of the other officers are knocked off their feet. They scramble to right themselves again, more than a handful glancing anxiously toward the exits.

“Evacuate!” Hux shouts as another rumble sounds off in the distance, this one prolonged. When only a few people rise from their seats to obey, he punctuates his command with a booming “ _NOW_!”

Anyone who might’ve been paralyzed by shock is now shaken from their trance. The ground begins to quake again, the lengthy thrum of death and destruction rising to a maddening crescendo beneath their feet. Hux maintains his position by the viewport until the ground settles again, watching the throng of officers as they try to organize themselves in such a way that no one is trampled underfoot out the door. An alarm begins to blare rhythmically throughout the base.

He has a feeling only a few of them will make it out of here alive today.

Captain Prin stands beside him, the color drained from his face. The fight has gone out of him, it would appear. He visibly flinches when the main lights die, shortly replaced by the red glare of the emergency bulbs underfoot. They throw his features into sharp relief. He looks like a tortured soul.

Hux knows several religions believe evil-doers pass away into non-existence once their lives have expired. In that moment, Hux wonders if they don’t actually persist after death, to be delivered into another existence, one characterized by eternal torment. If so, he thinks many of the officers who chose to join the First Order freely would qualify for such a place. Such as Prin, perhaps.

He wonders if he would wind up there himself for all the terrible things his waking self has done.

It’s a painful thought.

Hux continues to wait for the crowd to thin out a little more before making any attempt to leave himself. His calm façade apparently has a positive effect on Prin, who takes one look at Hux and seems to relax, even if only a little.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says.

Hux shakes his head. He wants to say he’s glad, because he is, but on the odd chance they manage to escape, he doesn’t want anyone else to know the truth about him.

Finally, the bottleneck at the exits seems to resolve itself. Hux and his small entourage are about to leave when the control panel behind them chirps shrilly above the alarm.

It takes Hux half a second too long to recognize that chirp for what it is, which is a hailing from the _Supremacy_. By then, Prin has already flipped the switch and accepted the call. The holoprojector above them flickers to life.

Given his weak and decrepit form, Snoke normally prefers to tower over his audience, but he’s chosen a life-sized image for this transmission. And he’s standing, which he only ever does when he’s recently been lost in thought and pacing.

He must be furious.

Hux suddenly remembers Snoke tried to contact him earlier.

For one horrified moment, Hux doesn’t know what to do; what to _think_. He tries to keep his mind blank on the off chance Snoke is currently trying to probe it, but his first wild thought is how the ‘Supreme Leader’ is, in fact, due for an assassination right about now, if for no other reason than he looks as though someone should’ve put him out of his misery decades ago.

Hux clenches his left hand into a fist. Or as best he can, considering he only just grew back most of the tissue in his upper arm. A sharp spasm of pain blossoms in his shoulder, lancing through the queasy bliss of the painkillers. It’s a necessary distraction. It forces him to focus on the agony rather than his treacherous thoughts.

 _“You’re still here,”_ Snoke drawls, sounding more confused than anything. _“The planet is collapsing, General.”_

As if he didn’t already know that. “We’re currently evacuating the base,” he says.

Snoke waves his hand dismissively, as if disgusted. It’s no surprise that he cares next nothing for the lowly pawns of his operation. So long as his favorite pieces remain functional, everyone else can burn.

 _“You will personally collect Kylo Ren and leave **at once** ,” _Snoke replies. _“His beacon is still operational. Do not delay, General.”_

And with that, his hologram dissipates into nothing.

Jumping into action, Prin raises his comm to his lips and puts out request for a separate shuttle to meet them at the nearest external exit. Somewhat sluggishly, Hux meanwhile grabs a nearby datapad and inputs his access code, pulling up the tracker on his co-commander, the one they normally use for a hasty extraction when one of Ren’s missions has taken a turn for the worse.

And like all of those botched missions, Hux fights the urge to leave him to his fate.

He’s truly tempted to do just that, but Prin is reading over his shoulder now, glancing at Ren’s approximate coordinates so that the shuttle knows where they’re going.

Getting to the shuttle itself at that point is an easy feat. While everyone else is making a mad dash for the hangers, they simply have to step outside one of the emergency exits to find their shuttle already waiting for them. It sits at an awkward angle on the newly slanted earth, the engine still running.

Hux can see new fissures crawling out across the ice field before him. Beams of light dance up from their sweltering depths, the power of the sun seeping through to the surface.

Very soon, it will consume them all.

Once they step aboard the shuttle, his two guards join the six other stormtroopers cramped together at the front of the ship as Hux and Prin take a seat at the back. They sit in silence as it rises into the air. Prin is beginning to look a little haunted again.

Thankfully, Ren’s coordinates place him not too far from the oscillator. In fact, he easily could’ve made a run for a nearby hanger, which is why Hux has to assume he’s either completely engrossed in an ongoing battle or grievously injured. Hux feels only marginally bad for hoping it’s the latter.

They land in a small clearing. The stormtroopers immediately fan out into the surrounding area as three medics crawl out of the cockpit to ready their equipment. Meanwhile, Hux tries to calculate how much time he would need to reach the nearest hanger on foot from here. He knows how to fly. If he’s lucky, he might be able to grab one of their reserve TIE-fighters and make a break for it…

Halfway down the ramp, he realizes someone is trailing after him. He turns around to see Captain Prin standing there, glossy-eyed and pale-faced. He looks half-dead.

“Stay here,” Hux says. “You’re in shock.”

“You’re injured,” Prin replies faintly.

“I can manage.”

“But—”

“You heard the Supreme Leader.”

Prin hesitates. Then he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his comm. It’s a short and stubby little thing, with a built-in tracker. He hands it over to Hux and just stands there in silence as Hux finally vanishes into the splintered forest.

He’s incredibly relieved Prin didn’t put up much of a fight. He knows he’s crazy for trying to make a break for it _now_ of all times, but no one should be able to keep track of him in all this mayhem. And besides, he doesn’t know what will happen once Ren is found—assuming, of course, he’s still alive. If Hux remains, he’ll still be the man’s prisoner. If, on the other hand, Ren has perished, it won’t be long before Snoke sees through his disguise. He’ll be a dead man walking if he doesn’t get out of here.

So onward he treks over the melting snow. It gets steadily warmer as he goes. The ground beneath his feet continues to quake. Far above him he spots a sea of shuttles rising up toward the _Finalizer_ , sailing swiftly toward their salvation. He wonders if their belief in the First Order has been shaken by this colossal failure.

He hopes so.

Distracted as he is by the shuttles, he doesn’t immediately realize what he’s stumbled upon. He just looks down one moment and realizes there’s a dark figure lying in the snow ten or so feet in front of him.

It’s Ren.

Hux stops. A small smattering of snowflakes drift down between them with a careless mien. Hux can hear an odd sort of buzz at the back of his brain.

He thinks he might finally be going into shock himself now.

His feet carry him cautiously forward to inspect the damage. He’s never seen Ren this vulnerable before. There’s a vicious gash that runs across his face and down his neck, digging into the soft tissue of his shoulder. His robes are also charred and torn on his left side, as though he’d been shot. Clearly, whoever he fought got the better of him. In fact, there’s no sight of them now. They apparently did all that they could to incapacitate Ren and then made a break for it.

Hux should do the same. However, part of him wants to stomp his boot into that pale throat, crush Ren’s windpipe in a single blow. Another part of him remembers all the worry lines gathering at the corner of Leia Organa’s eyes, the ones she’s been steadily collecting for the last six years. It’s somehow enough to quell the rage bubbling up inside him. After all he’s done, Hux knows this stupid boy still holds a special place in her heart. Luke’s too, considering the level of self-flagellation the old man’s undertaken after falling out with his nephew. Hux doesn’t have it in him to hurt either of them like that.

He raises the comm to his lips and thumbs the small button on the side. “I’ve found Lord Ren,” he says before shutting it off again. Then he drops it in the snow beside Ren’s crumpled form and continues on his way.

He makes it all of three steps.

“…Stop.”

The voice is so faint, Hux’s brain almost doesn’t register it at first. Then something cold settles in his chest as he halts mid-step, glancing back at the figure in the snow.

Weakly, Ren rolls over onto his side. Being that his wounds were likely cauterized by the weapons that dealt them to him, the man’s not at any risk of bleeding out right now. He could probably stagger to his feet and give chase, if he could bear the pain.

Even beaten, Ren is still an incredible danger.

Hux’s brain is now screaming at him to run.

“Don’t,” Ren says, wincing. “Don’t run to them.”

“Why not?” he asks, body tense, poised to _go_. Just as soon as he can muster the courage.

Why is it suddenly so difficult to simply turn and _run_?

“You’re a puppet,” Ren explains. His hair falls in his face as he tries to sit up. He chokes out a laugh. “He’s a tool for the First Order and you’re a tool for them. When will you be free, I wonder…”

“I’m not a tool.”

“Everything you do is for _them_ first.” In his attempt to push himself upright, Ren’s arm buckles and he falls back down to his elbow, hissing in pain. “Self-preservation comes second. Do you know how unnatural that is?”

“I’m not a tool,” he reiterates, taking a slow step backward.

Ren turns his head toward Hux. Through the scraggly veil of his hair, his eyes look red-rimmed and swollen. Less sane than usual. “I’m offering you unimaginable power. Control. _Agency_ …But you still want to run.”

Hux turns away sharply, propelling himself into action before it’s too late.

That’s when he hears it—a kind of humming in the air. It starts off with a solitary soft note. The first one of his song, he realizes, which then smoothly transitions into the next before taking on the more natural tone and cadence of a human voice.

Hux recognizes it as Ben’s childhood memory of Leia singing her little lullaby.

Hux is paralyzed by his fear. He can feel his consciousness wavering, the pull of the darkness crooning sweetly in his ear. The periphery of his vision goes blurry for a moment before the hum gradually dies down again inside his head. He comes back to himself slowly, struggling to breathe.

Ren is toying with him.

“Don’t ever turn from me again,” Ren says darkly.

Hux knows he should face him, but his body doesn’t want to cooperate anymore. Beyond the frantic pounding of his heart, he can’t move. His hands and feet feel numb. He’s as stiff and cold as stone.

Sensing Hux’s unwilling surrender, Ren continues. “I took your advice today,” he says. Then he hisses softly between his teeth, obviously still struggling to get up again. “ _‘He’s just a man’…_ It’s what you said about your father.” Another choked off laugh. “That also holds true for Han Solo. Or so it did. He tried to draw me under his influence again.” A poignant pause. “I killed him before he could succeed.”

Hux sways back on his feet as though he’s been dealt a blow. His body chooses then to get back with the program. His joints loosen up just in time to save him from falling.

Hux’s eyes burn something fierce.

Finally, he turns back to Ren.

Ren is sitting upright now, though he’s still leaning against the ground with one arm. And he’s heaving, still wincing in pain. Even so, he looks infuriatingly pleased with himself. “It was…liberating. Is that how you felt when you killed your father? Liberated?”

“Devastated,” Hux breathes, voice hoarse.

Han Solo is _dead_ …

He wonders if Organa knows.

“Why?” Ren barks, bloody spittle flying from his lips. His face is wet with a feverish sheen. He looks angrier than Hux has ever seen him before. “You can tell yourself whatever you like, but you’re not a good person, Hux. You’re not even a _whole_ person.” Ren presses a hand against his wounded side, screwing his eyes shut against the agony. Once he’s had a moment to collect himself, he continues. “There isn’t a _thing_ that monster inside you can do that you aren’t already capable of, so make it easier for yourself and just give up now. You’ll only ever be half a man until you accept the other side of what's lurking in the shadow of your mind.”

“I’m not—”

“A ‘monster’?” Ren breathes. “Because _I_ am and I can certainly recognize my own.” The corner of his lip curls into something cold and cruel. “Don’t try to fight it, Hux. This is the closest thing to freedom you’ll ever achieve.”

The ground quakes again. Hux has to fight to keep upright.

Somewhere far behind him, he can hear two stormtroopers relaying information between each other, trying to close in on Hux’s tracker.

Panic seizes him. He can’t go back. He _won’t_ go back.

He’s already done his time.

Instinctively, he tenses in preparation of running again, but Ren, as always, is already one step ahead of him. Ren extends a bloody hand to stop him.

Hux’s body is seized by something other than fear then. The Force presses in against him from all sides, not crushing him but still holding him in place, completely at Ren’s mercy.

Though his arm is trembling from the effort, Ren holds him fast. “If you continue to defy me, I’ll lock you up indefinitely. I’ll afford _him_ every opportunity to raze this galaxy to the ground before I let you out again.”

Hux doesn’t know if he could handle that, not without Luke or Leia to help him bury the atrocities in his mind. It would kill him to come back to consciousness, fully aware of what his waking self had done. He knows what his waking self is capable of.

With Ren behind his other self, he would set the universe ablaze.

There’s a dampness on Hux’s face, just below his eyes.

He’s never going to be free, it seems.

The stormtroopers finally push through into the clearing. Ren drops his arm, clearly exhausted, crumpling back into the snow. He’s still a human being, despite his incredible power.

No longer pinned by the Force, Hux rubs the tears from his eyes and turns away. Surprisingly, only two troopers came to investigate his call. Or, rather, just one—a tall guy missing his helmet. Half of his face is covered by a large black tattoo, which Hux knows is obviously against regulation.

Then he catches sight of a familiar woman trailing behind the man, clutching a dark coat tightly around her slender form. Their eyes lock just as the man raises his hand and pulls off a shot.

The dart catches Hux in his good shoulder.

He can hear Ren shouting as the ground races up to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I think we're a little over halfway done now. I hope you're all continuing to enjoy the story!


	11. The vagaries of hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The first fun fact of today’s chapter: Carrie Fisher’s daughter Billie Catherine Lourd plays Lieutenant Connix of the Resistance. She’s the blonde officer who tries to help Poe with his little coup in TLJ (she had a cameo in TFA as well). I’m kind of happy she got a chance to work alongside her mother before Carrie’s unfortunate passing… :(
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry for updating so late again. I have no excuse beyond an uptick in work.

_“Strange, I thought, how you can be living your dreams and your nightmares at the very same time.”_

― Ransom Riggs

~***~

All that he is immediately aware of is the pressure.

 _Immense_ pressure.

It pierces through the fog before any sight or sound, a sucking sensation deep within the tender tissue of his shoulder. He’s barely conscious before it’s accompanied by a cool sting, cold enough that it burns, radiating outward from his injury. It’s the most painful thing he’s experienced in his semi-brief existence, as terrible and bright as an exploding star, his universe reduced to a single point on his body.

He opens his eyes and lashes out with his good arm, acting more on impulse than anything else. His brain is certainly operating purely on autopilot as he grabs at the thin steel rod probing around inside his wounded joint. Once his fingers curl around the cold instrument, he foolishly tries to pull it out, but his hand is covered with sweat and his grip slips. So he tries agin, jarring the rod inside him, likely doing more harm than good.

The woman holding the other end chokes out a small scream.

“ _Shev_!” she hollers.

“Please,” Hux croaks, vision blurred with tears. His muscles spasm around the intrusion. It’s excruciating. “Please— _stop_.”

She doesn’t stop.

She tries to hold the rod steady with one hand as she pries at his fingers with the other, wide-eyed and frantic. A second later, a man joins her on Hux’s other side, pinning his good shoulder down against the cot. Something flashes in this hand before a needle sinks into Hux’s throat.

He’s too stunned to react.

Then the drugs kick in and pull him under.

~***~

It’s raining again.

It’s just a light smattering, but the sky is a gloomy grey and he’s absolutely freezing. Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s standing out in the shallows of the lake, the choppy waters sloshing against his thighs. He’s completely drenched. The cool breeze coming off the water stings his wet face, chilling him to the bone.

His only consolation is the dull throb that’s replaced the searing pain in his shoulder, although as far as blessings go this one is pretty weak. He’s bleeding freely from the wound, staining his shirt and trousers, running down into the murky water lapping at his legs. He touches the tear in his shirt gingerly and stares at the blood on his pale fingertips, bright red and warm, dribbling down now into the cup of his palm, smeared by the rain…

The cold finally passes through and into him, a frigid weight that rolls down his throat and slowly works its way into his pelvis. His vision swims as nausea creeps up the back of his throat.

He drops his hand to his side and stares straight ahead at the wet beach and the shimmering forest, so vibrant and green and inviting.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for a long overdue scream.

Then he hears a tree root snapping underfoot.

~***~

He opens his eyes.

That same young woman is still leaning over him, but now he’s lying partially upright on the cot and his shoulder no longer feels as though someone is trying to tear his arm out of its socket. He’s also curiously unrestrained, aside from the sling, dressed down now into a set of white cotton scrubs and smelling heavily of bacta.

The woman notices he’s awake almost immediately, eyes darting from the monitor above his head to his injured shoulder before she takes a cautious step back. Upon closer inspection, she looks pretty banged up herself. There’s a ring of bruises around her throat and a hastily stitched up cut over her right eye. The middle and ring fingers of her left hand are also taped together, likely fractured or strained.

It looks like Ren put up a fight before…before whatever happened after Hux lost consciousness.

“We’re all done,” she says, holding her hands up as though to show him she’s unarmed. “I’m sorry you woke up when you did. We’re low on sedatives.”

Hux doesn’t know who she is yet, but he has an inkling she isn’t a hostile entity. For which he’s grateful. He’s too weak right now to deal with one of those. In fact, he feels as though he just woke from a fever, bone weary and feeble. His limbs are heavy; his skin is still covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He doubts he has the strength to even lift his head.

His uneasiness with his current condition is not lost on her. “We think you had a bad reaction to the medicine,” she explains, glancing back at the monitor. “Our supplies are a little old, so either we gave you something outdated or you’re allergic to our brand of the good stuff.”

 _‘Our brand?’_ he thinks curiously. Out loud, he says, “Who are you?”

The medic tilts her head curiously to one side, the ghost of a smile perched on the corner of her lips. “I’m Lieutenant Connix of the Resistance. General Organa sent a colleague and I to collect you from the base.”

There it is again—that warm throb of hope in the hollow of his chest. Hux takes a slow, deep breath, praying this isn’t a dream. “She said she would, I suppose.”

“She’s a woman of her word,” Connix agrees. “Although, this whole operation would’ve gone a lot smoother if you’d remained in your quarters.”

 _Stars_ , he feels like a moron… He averts his gaze in shame. “I’m sorry. I doubted the Resistance’s ability to fulfill the General’s promise.”

“To be honest, it was a little touch and go for a while there.” Gently, she reaches down to pat his knee, politely ignoring the way he flinches, so unused as he is to the amiable gesture. “The General told us Kylo Ren was probably going to keep you close at hand, but even wounded as badly as he was, he put up one hell of a fight.”

Hux’s gaze drifts to the ring of bruises around her throat. He stiffens in fear. “You didn’t bring him aboard, did you?”

“Stars, _no_.” Reflexively, she brushes her fingers against her throat, noticing his line of regard. “We grabbed you and tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. He succumbed to his wounds, thankfully.”

“Is he dead?”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t care. He wasn’t looking too lively when we left.”

General Organa probably cares. So does Hux, a little, because under the funeral veil of Kylo Ren lies Ben Solo, the victim of one of the darkest forces in the universes, someone Hux stood idly by and watched decay for last six years.

Connix studies him for a quiet moment before reaching over to adjust his IV drip.

Now that he knows he’s in good hands, Hux glances down at his injured arm and asks, “What were you doing to my shoulder earlier?”

“Oh—!” Beside his cot is a storage container—one of many in this small room, a space which, apparently, was only recently repurposed to serve as a medical unit—upon which sits a bottle of water and a small metal dish. She grabs the dish and tilts it to one side so that he can see the tiny black sphere rolling around inside. “They implanted a tracker during the initial surgery, as per your co-commander’s orders. We were going to remove it before leaving the base at D’Qar, but the First Order caught up to us. Otherwise, we would’ve finished long before you woke.”

Hux tenses. “We’re on a ship now—and they’re in pursuit?”

She nods slowly, sadly, as she returns the dish to the container-cum-bedside table.

That little factoid settles in his stomach like a lead weight. It doesn’t matter how fast or far they run, the First Order is more than capable of staying hot on their heels.

He should’ve known his freedom would be short-lived.

Connix sighs deeply. It’s apparent there’s more she wants to say, but a brisk knock on the door interrupts her train of thought. “Come in,” she calls out.

The door slides open to reveal a man not much older than Hux himself, with wavy black hair, a crooked grin, and tired eyes. He’s a weathered fellow, if his scruffy Resistance uniform is anything to go by, although he stands tall and relaxed, as though this lifestyle of his is a well-worn and treasured thing.

Hux recognizes the newcomer immediately.

“This is Wing Commander Poe Dameron,” Connix introduces, standing a little straighter, looking somewhat uplifted by his presence.

“It’s Captain now,” Dameron clarifies softly, smile faltering briefly. “And we’ve already met, Connix. Could we have a moment…?”

The Lieutenant nods, flashing Hux a small smile of her own before heading out the door. There’s a long pause following her departure before Dameron wanders across the room. He glances at one of the smaller storage containers beside the bed and sits himself down upon in, leaning forward, elbows against his knees, hands folded loosely together. He looks a little haggard now that his subordinate is gone. Downtrodden, almost.

“Technically,” Hux says to break the silence, “we’re only now meeting for the first time.”

Dameron laughs a little under his breath. “ _Technically_ , I think that’s for the best, considering General Organa gave you the kill order back when I was still a hostage on your ship.”

Hux looks down and away, ashamed.

Dameron sits upright suddenly. “I’m not—I’m just kidding. There’s no hard feelings.” He rubs his hands against his thighs, laughing awkwardly. “I know you were only trying to do the right thing. A professional curtesy, really—which, ironically, is how everything ended up falling apart for you.”

Hux nods in understanding, even as shame continuous to burn at the back of his throat.

He _had_ intended to kill Dameron back then, even if only for the good of the Resistance.

 “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Dameron continues, undeterred. “The General told us all about you once the Vader-wannabe intervened on your operation. We were expecting news of your annihilation cycles ago…”

Hux shakes his head, weary beyond words for the ordeal he’s been through. He feels like he’s been running on nothing but adrenaline since his mission imploded on itself. “Ren wants to overthrow the Supreme Leader,” he explains. “Since I’ve been able to shield my true intentions from Snoke for so long, he spared me to enlist my help.”

“Does he know about the whole…” Dameron waves his hand beside his head, wiggling his fingers. “ _‘Dual personality’_ thing you’ve got going on?”

“Unfortunately. He’s also hijacked the system to serve his own purposes, so to speak.” Hux shifts uncomfortably on the bed, shoulder twinging. It’s an odd exercise in debasement, describing his psyche as if he were a mere program. “Did General Organa explain how it works?”

“We had a bit of an emergency meeting after she realized you were compromised. We’ve all been warned against humming any lullabies, otherwise you’ll put your mean face on.” Dameron grins a little, as though he has a hard time taking Hux’s other self seriously. Hux can’t blame him. His other self was such a nuisance _._ “But if you do put your mean face on, we just have to get you horizontal to reverse the process. No pun intended.”

Hux shakes his head. “Ren destroyed my second trigger and replaced it with one of his own. I lose consciousness briefly when he utilizes it, so I can’t even tell you what it is.”

Dameron’s smile falters again. “So…one slip-up and you’re out of the game for good, is that it?”

Well, when he puts it like _that_ …

Not for the first time, Hux reflects upon the horror of the situation Ren’s left him in. Of course, the second trigger is obscure, something he shouldn’t have to worry about on a day-to-day basis—that was, essentially, _why_ they had chosen a lullaby in the first place—but he’s still balancing on a frail wire, far from any semblance of salvation on either end. It’s a sobering thought, realizing that _this_ part of him, the part that might actually be worthy of existence, is one false step away from being wiped out entirely.

And that the only person who can undo the process has no reason whatsoever to save him.

“I didn’t know it was possible to look pale on top of already being pasty white.” Dameron tilts his head curiously to one side, eyeing Hux, clearly concerned. “Relax, okay? Everyone on this ship has a vested interest in keeping you in the right frame of mind. We won’t let you go postal on us.”

“And if I do,” he says, faintly, “you’ll kill me. Can we agree to that?”

Dameron huffs out a small laugh in surprise. “Come on. We’re nothing like the FO. We’re not going to just _off_ you.”

“You will. As a professional curtesy, if nothing else at all.”

That kills the last of Dameron’s lightheartedness. He wipes the moisture off his lips in agitation and then nods stiffly, seeing no reason to fight Hux on this matter.

Hux hates having to put a damper on an already dismal situation, but he’s already suffered enough to understand that there’s _always_ an opportunity for things to go a little worse. He would rather _not_ leave his allies in the dark with regards to his greatest weakness, least of all because he knows his other self can do a significant amount of damage when he puts his mind to it.

Hux clears his throat. “When can I see her, by the way. General Organa, I mean. Was she with you on D’Qar?”

“She was,” Dameron replies, nodding slowly. He glances down for a moment, as though formulating his next words carefully.

His blunt response does not bode well.

That weightiness inside Hux’s chest returns. Just when he thought he was out of the fire, some new calamity rains down upon his head.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if she’s dead.

~***~

She’s not dead.

But she’s close enough.

Dameron tells him as much before they leave the make-shift medbay, but Hux still struggles up out of his cot to see her for himself. Dameron can tell he’s winded by his injury, but thankfully the Captain doesn’t try to dissuade Hux from leaving, perhaps because he’s not too unfamiliar with the concept of working past the point of pain himself. He simply leads Hux through the crowded halls to a proper medical station, where General Organa’s been left to convalesce in a life support capsule following her prolonged exposure to the cold vacuum of space.

Dameron is kind enough to give him a moment alone with the General, which speaks considerably of his deep respect for the woman, trusting that Hux is every bit of the Resistance agent she likely said he was and not some double-crossing lout here to put her out of her misery. The unspoken privacy afforded Hux is also very much appreciated because Dameron is gone for all of ten seconds before his eyes begin to sting.

He sobs quietly into his hand as he stands beside her capsule, lightheaded and weary, trying to blink away his tears. He’s known Leia Organa for a little over a decade. She has, quite literally, been his only friend and ally for the last six years, which is funny considering he’s never had the opportunity to meet her in person before now. Never had the opportunity to properly thank her for keeping him sane in Luke’s absence either. She’s been his constant companion in the First Order’s den of vipers.

He’s really only made it this far because of her.

She doesn’t deserve to be clinging to life as what remains of her beloved organization is scattered amongst the stars. And yet here she is, hunted, like an _animal_. By her own son, no less. The injustice of her situation is an insult to any so-called ‘balance’ that allegedly exists in the Force.

Once again, Hux is embarrassed with himself for trusting Ren like he did. He wonders if she would be ashamed of him for his stupidity, for surrendering to Ren at the drop of a hat. He can’t really see her thinking any less of him for his lapse in judgement, but the fact remains that he was weak, and, in being weak, he allowed Ren to sway him to his side in every imaginable way. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly he folded.

Hux’s harsh self-reflection helps to dial down the waterworks. Such a disgraceful behavior. Here he is, crying over Leia Organa’s frail form, the picture of sacrifice. His suffering could never equate to her own. She’s spent her life battling two of the universe’s greatest foes, both of whom were her own flesh and blood. Hers is an unparalleled anguish, if ever one existed.

Hux wipes the tears furiously from his face and steps away from her capsule. He leans back against one of the tables, only now realizing that this room isn’t quite a proper medical station after all. In fact, it looks like a small conference room. All the consoles are clearly outdated, the kind with faulty wiring and sticky keys. Much like the rest of the ship. If he had to guess, he’d even go so far as to say this ship is probably older than he is. It’s a wonder it’s still operational.

But that’s just a hallmark of the Resistance, he supposes: old, worn, and poorly supplied. And yet somehow always able to keep one step ahead of the First Order, the irony of which is not lost on the Order’s senior staff. It rankles just about everyone under Snoke’s employ that a ragtag team of vigilantes is able to outmanoeuver them with next to no external funding or support. But in truth, the Resistance will always be at an advantage so long as they continue to welcome all walks of life into their fold. In fact, it’s their ability to find a common ground among such a diverse group of people that’s really built the foundation of the organization’s immortality. Because even if the First Order succeeds in snuffing out this generation of the Resistance, any person at virtually any time can take up the mantel once again.

He guesses it’s true what they say:

So long as there’s a will, there’s a way.

Dameron returns shortly to find him ruminating over the Resistance’s antiquated equipment. His tears have dried up by then, though his eyes still feel raw. He just feels cold and angry mostly now. Less defeated; more spurned, compelled to retaliate.

“You look both better and worse,” Dameron quips as he waltzes into the room. There’s a bundle tucked under his arm of some pitch-black material, neatly folded. “How are you feeling?”

Like he wants to punch something.

“Fine,” he says automatically, eyeing the bundle. He blinks. “Is that my old uniform?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” Dameron holds it out to him, giving Hux a mildly sympathetic look when he hesitates to take it. “I think we’re both on the same page with respects to wanting to burn this thing, but the only reason we’re still in one piece right now is because the First Order knows we’ve got you on board.”

“They think I’m a hostage?”

“Well, yeah. And they want some kind of reassurance you’re still alive, so…” Dameron waves his free hand over the bundle. “I’ve got your boots in the hall. Just come out when you’re ready. Preferably soonish.”

Hux finally relents in taking the bundle but touches Dameron’s arm to stop him mid-turn. “They’ll toy with the idea of getting me back to defend their pride, but you can’t drag this charade out for very long. Whether or not they realize I’ve deserted them, they’ll open fire on us eventually.”

“All we need right now is time,” Dameron replies. “Just help us add a few more hours to the clock and we’ll figure a way out of this. Trust me.” And with a wink, he finally disappears back into the hall.

Hux supposes that’s another glaring difference between the First Order and the Resistance.

Dameron’s people seemed to relish the idea of flying through battle by the seat of their pants.

Despite Organa’s comatose state, Hux moves to the other side of the room, well out of view, before awkwardly stripping down to his undergarments and shuffling into his jodhpurs. His shoulder is stiff and sore. It’s an absolute terror maneuvering out of the sling to slip on his tunic, although Lt. Connix did an admirable job with his stitches. He hasn’t even begun to do up the clasps on his shirt when Dameron barges back in again.

“Right,” the Captain mumbles to himself, darting around the conference table to lend Hux a hand, Hux’s boots tucked under his arm. “Injuries make things awkward and difficult. My bad.”

Hux’s face burns in humiliation as Dameron helps him with the finishing touches and resituates his arm inside the sling. However, the Captain is kind enough not make any quips about how uncomfortable Hux is with the concept of requiring aid for such a simple task, although Dameron still smirks pretty hard from where he’s kneeling now, adjusting the lip of Hux’s boots around his calves, as if he finds the whole situation at least a little funny.

Once everything is said and done, Hux tries to smooth down the abomination that is his hair and mutters, “How do I look?”

“Horrible,” Dameron replies, giving him an appreciative once over before straightening to his full height. “Which is, to say, perfect. We don’t want them thinking we’ve been treating you with kid gloves, now do we?”

Which is a valid point. Hux rubs his jaw in contemplation. “Should you hit me, just for good measure?”

“Stars, no. You look bad enough as it is.” Dameron grabs his cotton scrubs and rolls the clothes haphazardly together before ushering Hux toward the door. “It’s Go Time, General. Your mindless peons need you.”

“Who exactly is hailing you at the moment?”

“Captain Peevish or whatever.”

The corner of Hux’s lip twitches in good humor. “It’s Peavey. But by all means, please continue calling him Peevish.”

Dameron grins. “Will do.”

Ready now to see his subordinates for what he hopes is the last time, Hux finally steps out into the hall.

As he’d thought, he gets quite a few bug-eyed stares as Dameron escorts him to the bridge. His thin black figure sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the pale brown and weathered uniforms of the Resistance. Thankfully, though, no one appears to be openly upset with him, which hopefully means General Organa’s explanation of his true allegiances in the war and the very real threat of a stray lullaby was believed by all.

The bridge is a hive of activity. He gets a number of curious stares here too, though his presence doesn’t appear to disrupt the overall workflow. In fact, the only person who approaches him is a tall woman with wild lilac hair. There’s something strange and otherworldly in the way she glides over to greet him. She reminds him a little of Organa with how suddenly a sense of calm washes over him when she gently touches his elbow.

“I’m Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo,” she says. “I understand you’re probably worn out from your ordeal, General, but I would truly appreciate your help right now.”

“I think it goes without saying that I owe it to you,” he says softly. “What do you need me to do?”

“Sit tight and look pretty,” Dameron interjects, catching a roll of what looks like adhesive tape from Lt. Connix, who is apparently much more than just a medic. Then he pats the back of an empty chair at the nearest work station, waiting for Hux to take his seat.

Holdo gives Dameron a look of long-suffering before waving Hux toward the station. Clearly, there’s a not-unsubstantial degree of tension brewing between them. “Please, General. If you would.”

Hux tries not to flinch as Dameron loudly tears off a strip of tape, which he then inevitably presses against Hux’s mouth. It’s going to hurt coming off. Thankfully, though, someone whips out a pair of cuffs to restrain his good arm to the armrest of his chair instead of sticking him in place. At least now he has the assurance that he won’t have to be peeled off the seat when the transmission is over.

“Perfect,” Dameron says, patting his shoulder once he’s settled. “Looks like we’re good to go.”

Holdo levels a particularly stern look at her subordinate before taking up her place on Hux’s left. She stands tall and poised, hands folded neatly together in front of her. “Leave the talking to me, Captain.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

Hux side eyes them both, wondering at the curious amount of animosity between them.

A hush settles over the bridge suddenly as the bridge crew turns toward the holoprojector in the centre of the room. Surprisingly, it’s the one piece of equipment in the Resistance’s possession that is of excellent quality. A life-sized image of Captain Peavey flickers to life before them, still slightly blue-tinged, but remarkably colored otherwise. The right half of his face is swollen and beginning to bruise. Since he never left the _Finalizer,_ and therefore wasn’t on _Starkiller_ to flee its demise in a blind panic like everyone else, Hux assumes Peavey was the only one on hand to take a call from Snoke. Hux can’t imagine how else he might’ve been injured.

A recent thrashing from Snoke would also explain the lack of Peavey’s usually smug demeanor. He should be having a hay day over Hux’s capture. Instead, he looks subdued. Stunned, almost, as if he’s waiting for something truly awful to happen.

As wonderful as it is to see Peavey in such a miserable state, Hux tenses.

“Captain Peavey,” Holdo says, her voice crisp and clear and yet somehow still soft. “As promised, evidence of the General’s continued well-being.”

Peavey stares at Hux for a long unsettling moment. Finally, he says, _“Vice Admiral Holdo, I ask that you remove his gag.”_

“Not possible,” she replies, as expected. If Hux were a real prisoner, it would be foolish to afford him the opportunity to relay any information he might’ve gleaned while in the Resistance’s custody. “His input is not required for this discussion.”

_“Ma’am, if I cannot speak with him, then I cannot verify it is really him.”_

“Not so. If you had even an inkling that he wasn’t really in our custody, you would’ve opened fire on us long ago. Besides—” She extends her arm toward Lt. Connix, who rushes to hand her a small metal dish. Holdo plucks out the black sphere rolling around inside, displaying it briefly to Peavey before dropping it loudly back into the bowl. “—this is the General’s tracker, is it not?” She offers the Captain a thin smile as she hands the dish back to Connix. “Do you tag all your senior officers?”

Captain Peavey glances aside for a moment, clearing listening to someone just outside the holoprojector’s boundaries. Then he looks back at Holdo. _“Very well. Shall we discuss the terms of his release?”_

“As I said before, back off and we’ll ship him to any outpost of your choice.”

Peavey flashes her a tight-lipped smile of his own. _“What assurance do we have that you won’t kill him?”_

“Our word,” she replies, “which, as you know, is worth considerably more than your own.”

 _“That’s not good enough,”_ he snaps. _“Please eject him in one of your escape pods. If you time his release properly, that should give you ample time to flee.”_

“You know, if you hadn’t already shown your hand with your hyperspace tracking navigational system, I would almost believe you.” She slowly uncurls her folded hands and smoothly crosses her arms in front of her chest instead. She looks very much like someone dealing with a hotheaded youth rather than a Captain of enemy forces. “It looks like we’re at an impasse.”

The corner of Peavey’s lip twitches in frustration. _“Ma’am,”_ he grits out between his teeth, _“you are **not** in a position to make ludicrous demands. Sooner or later you will run out of fuel, and then you will be incapable of accelerating beyond our reach, even outside hyperspace.”_

“Well, since neither of us is going anywhere any time soon, I suggest we leave this discussion here and revisit it once you’ve had a chance to cool down.”

 _“Ma’am—”_ he begins tersely, only to lose his trail of thought once he catches sight something in the corner of his eye. He stares off to the side, listening, and then bows his head respectfully.

Another figure flickers to life beside him.

Hux’s blood runs cold.

Nobody on the bridge says anything for a long, agonizing moment, probably too confused by the newcomer to figure out how to respond.

Eventually, Dameron is the one to break the silence. “I think you’ve got a little something on your face,” he says, pointing to his own to mirror the position of the black streak.

It’s a suture pad, and it extends almost the entire length of the right side of Ren’s face—but he should be dead right now. Or, at the very least, incapacitated. He could barely sit up straight the last time Hux saw him, and that’s before Lt. Connix and her companion swooped in to save the day.

For what it’s worth, Ren doesn’t exactly look as though he’s feeling in peak condition. He’s ghastly pale in comparison to Peavey, with dark rings around his eyes and his long scraggly hair falling in his face. He clearly shouldn’t be on his feet right now.

Despite that, his ominous air has in no way been diminished. His tall broad figure remains stock still where he stands beside Peavey, his hologram towering over all on the bridge. His dark eyes only briefly examine Dameron’s much smaller figure before zeroing in on Hux, boring in to him, as if daring him to look away.

Hux can’t.

He’s seized up entirely, torn between meeting Ren’s gaze and watching his lips, waiting for him to whistle or hum those fateful notes, the ones that will unmake him right here and now.

Instead, Ren’s gaze slides over to Holdo, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

“Kylo Ren,” she finally says, much to Hux’s surprise. He thought he could count on one hand the number of people who knew what Ren looked like without his mask. Although, he supposes if Holdo’s known General Organa long enough, she probably met Ren before he completely lost his mind. “Is there something you wanted to add to the conversation?”

Ren somehow manages to smirk at her without flinching, despite the way that little curl at the corner of his lip must tug at the tender gash on his face. It’s a small gesture, but it encompasses all of Ren that is cold and cruel and so desperately eager to _play_ again…

 _“We know you have roughly two cycles worth of fuel left,”_ Ren says, voice loud and terrifying over the hammering of Hux’s heart. _“At that point, your only recourse will be surrender. You are welcome to spend this time dreading your final hour, or you can act now and make an appeal for at least a fraction of your people.”_

 _“Sir—”_ Peavey begins.

Then he chokes.

And Ren hasn’t moved so much as a finger.

Hux’s heart skips a beat. He knows Snoke’s been driving Ren to the point of madness with his training in a wild bid to help him harness more power, but seeing how far Ren’s come in so little time is downright astonishing. And devastating.

Because if Ren’s already improved in this skill, what else is he capable of now?

 _“There’s no point in dancing around the subject,”_ Ren continues calmly. Peavey’s ordeal lasts only a moment, but he still lifts a hand to rub his tender throat once he can breathe again. _“The sooner you surrender, the more lives you’ll save. Think about it.”_

Holdo doesn’t immediately respond beyond tilting her chin up at Ren. Then she says, “She’s still alive, you know.”

There’s no question of who _she_ is. Ren knows. His smirk briefly stiffens into a snarl before he schools his expression into something a little more neutral. _“Not for long,”_ he says, though whether that’s a warning or if he’s simply stating a fact is unclear. Hux would prefer to think no one in their right mind would want their mother dead, but then this is Ren they’re dealing with here, the man who just recently murdered his own father.

 “Longer than you’d like to think,” Holdo replies. She glances aside at one of her Lieutenants, indicating that the end of this conversation is imminent. “Now, if that will be all, Lord Ren—”

 _“Just a moment,”_ Ren says, once more shifting his attention to Hux. At once, their eyes lock.

Hux is suddenly thrown back to last time they occupied a similar tableau, Hux pinned to his seat, Ren hovering triumphantly over him. This might not be another systematic dissection of his psyche, but Ren still holds the higher ground here. He observes Hux with eyes that have already seen every inch of him, inside and out, that have already weighed Hux and found his true value in the cosmos. He openly stares at Hux and reduces him to his basest form, a simple organism fueled by oxygen, glucose, and fear, nothing more than adrenaline-riddled prey fleeing the gaping maw of true power.

 _“We’re coming for you, General,”_ are Ren’s parting words. Peavey casts his eyes downward, as though this is a matter he’s recently been schooled over. _“Don’t let them convince you otherwise.”_

Dameron opens his mouth to fire off what will no doubt be a painfully smart retort, but the holograms of Ren and Peavey sputter and die as the _Finalizer_ cuts off their end of the connection.

There’s maybe a half a second of silence before the bridge is buzzing with conversation again. Fortunately, the majority of the crew jump back to their regular tasks even as they begin speculating over Ren’s unexpected reveal. Hux knows seeing his face frightened them in a new and unusual way, that they intuitively know that the enemy isn’t in the habit of stripping away his armor when he’s feeling vulnerable. More likely, Ren wants them to remember his face when he either blows them to smithereens or has them summarily executed. Ren is done playing games here.

He wants them to hurt when he finally gets his hands on them.

Hux is somewhat grateful for his chair. A sense of surreality overcomes him in Ren’s absence. Everything looks too bright and slightly faded along the edges. His legs feel like jelly. His focus slowly narrows down to the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

Dimly, he’s aware of Captain Dameron as the man squats down in front of him and gently pries away the tape on his lips. Hux is sweating hard enough that the adhesive has already loosened up considerably. It doesn’t hurt very much coming off.

“Don’t listen to him, yeah?” Dameron grins at him in a peculiarly genuine way. Hux marvels at his ability to keep a radiant mind in these trying times. “We’re not handing you over to him and we’re not going to let him catch up to us either.” Dameron glances aside at Holdo. “Are we, ma’am?”

Holdo completely ignores him, instead turning her attention to a passing crew member. “Get the General something to drink, please. And something for the pain, depending on what we have left.” Orders delivered, she then turns to Hux. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to have a chat with you. There’s a lot General Organa wanted you to know once you were liberated.”

She offers him a small, sad smile before leaving the bridge. Hux watches her go, wondering how Ren would’ve gone about delivering his threat if his mother had been the one to take that call instead of her.

Dameron watches her go too, but his smile has vanished. He looks tense.

He looks like he doesn’t trust her.

Hux wonders if Dameron knows Holdo probably doesn’t trust him either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apparently, it’s been confirmed that Holdo was a little Force sensitive, which is why she seemed somewhat standoffish and ethereal in TLJ. I like the idea of there being a kind of in-between place people can occupy with the Force, such as the blind warrior-monk Chirrut in _Rogue One_.


	12. The dancing candle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Victoria Day to my fellow Canadians! If you're not a Canadian, here, still have a treat!...

_“It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.”_

― Philip K. Dick

~***~

In the wake of Ren’s casual threat, Hux's anxiety finally gives way to fatigue.

He numbly takes the flask of water handed off to him after Captain Dameron uncuffs him from the chair. He’s also only vaguely aware of the gentle sting of a needle against his inner wrist as Lieutenant Connix administers him a halfway decent dose of painkillers. She then ushers him off to one side of the bridge to monitor his initial reaction to the drug before waving him toward the exit, having been enlisted to deliver him to Holdo once he’s in a semi-stable condition.

But before he goes, he glances at the nearest console and the holographic map displayed there, eyeing the relative position of their ship to that of the _Finalizer_ —and, stars, the _Supremacy_ as well. They’re close, it seems. Still far enough away that no significant amount of damage can be done, but it’s only a matter of time before the _Raddus_ and its auxiliary ships run out of fuel and can no longer outmaneuver their pursuers.

Hux wonders if Holdo already has a plan to deal with this.

He also takes a moment to spare Dameron one final glance. The man doesn’t seem to notice him, lost in thought, peeking at the data on a blue-tinted screen over another officer’s shoulder before he murmurs something in her ear. He looks tense; poised to act but frustrated by the delay.

“You should lie down soon,” Connix says as they pass into the hallway and off to what Hux assumes is the Vice Admiral’s office. “And if you think you’re having a bad reaction to this batch, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“When was the last time you were able to resupply?” he asks, curious about the awful state of their current stock.

“Our drugs? I’m not sure. We usually take whatever we can get, whenever we can get it, from whoever’s willing to deal with us.”

The Resistance’s ability to sustain itself by the skin of its teeth has already been made abundantly clear to him. He still wonders how they’ve been able to evade the First Order for so long with such a hectic management scheme of their most basic supplies. Of course, it’s no fault of theirs that they’re forced to make due with the bare minimum, but it suggests to him that the Republic isn’t taking the threat that the First Order presents to the known universe half as seriously as they should. After all, they were willing to evacuate the Hosnian System on his word alone, weren’t they? Why not put the necessary time and effort into properly stocking their only means of defence? Then again, Organa never hid the fact from him that the whole process was slow going. If there were those who still underestimated Snoke, that meant the Republic wasn’t going to mobilize to help them any time soon.

“You’ve been living on the edge for quite some time it seems,” he murmurs.

“Haven’t we all?” she grins, finally pulling short in front of a rather unremarkable door. She thumbs a button over the intercom speaker and says, “General Hux to see you, ma’am.”

“Just ‘Armitage’ or ‘Hux’ is fine,” he says, after she releases the button. “I’m a defector now, technically. I’ve relinquished my rank.”

She shrugs, “Alright, but we’re holding on to that uniform.”

He looks down at his crisp black tunic, having almost forgotten he was wearing it.

Amused, Connix smiles. “Once you’re finished here, you can change back into your scrubs.”

“Thank you,” he says, just as the door slides open.

Holdo stands before them, as calm and collected as before. She offers Connix a small smile before stepping back to admit her guest. “Thank you, Lieutenant. This won’t be long.”

Connix nods and takes up her post beside the door. She winks at Hux, quite cheery despite the ever-present peril at their backs.

Hux finds it difficult not to feel mildly uplifted by her spirit.

He steps into the room and Holdo finally allows the door to slide shut behind him. She gestures politely to one of the many empty chairs set in front of an old holo-table. The transparent screen erected in the centre of it is blank, but the blinking technicolored lights at the bottom right hand side imply she was looking over files not too long before he got there. He imagines they were star charts, that she was probably searching for old allies in the vicinity or boltholes for them to hunker down in.

Once he chooses a seat, she settles down in the one on his right, angled toward him, hands neatly folded over her lap. Looking at her now, it’s almost easy to forget how tense she was with Captain Dameron earlier, how convinced she seemed that the man was going to make a terrible mistake.

Hux hasn’t known either of them long enough to judge, so he clears his throat and opens the conversation on different note, “What was it about General Organa that you wanted to share with me?”

“Where to begin…” she sighs, staring at the blank screen, collecting her thoughts. Hux waits in silence until she glances back at him and says, “You’re running on fumes right now, aren’t you?”

He is. In fact, he’s beginning to feel the pull of sleep just behind his eyes, tugging him gently from the cataclysm of the waking world into a warm and familiar darkness. “That’s…not an inaccurate analysis, I suppose,” he says. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle, I assure you.”

“Is that how you enter the rendezvous point?” she asks. “You need to pass out or fall asleep?”

It’s admittedly weird to have so many people in-the-know about his condition, but it’s saved him the time of having to explain his situation over and over again at the very least. So, he nods and says, “Yes and no. My body is asleep when I’m in the dreamscape, but I need either General Organa or her brother to pull me over there first.”

She nods slowly, mulling over this information. Finally, she says, “Is that the only way? You need another Force user to make the connection?”

“I’m not a Force user,” he clarifies, “And for the most part, yes. Although lately I’ve been crossing over by myself…I think. I could just be dreaming.”

Holdo smiles at him, bemused, settling more comfortably into her chair.

“What?” he asks, perplexed.

“There are Force users, who can do all the tricks in the book, and then there are people who are connected to the Force by a thin tendril, one which often affords them small allowances,” she explains. “The former are born with their gift; the latter usually earn their connection through intense meditation or outside influence. You belong to this second group, I believe.”

He can’t help but laugh at that. If he had any sway over the Force whatsoever, Snoke would’ve sniffed him out long ago. Then he’d be in a whole other world of trouble. “I doubt it. I can hardly move objects with my mind or deflect laser bolts.”

“No, but the Force flows through you in a peculiar way and it’s consequently allowed you to enter a pocket universe of your own making.” Unfolding her hands, she braces her left elbow against the armrest of her chair and then braces her chin against her fist. She seems enthralled with the philosophies of the Force. Her analysis kind of reminds him of the lectures Luke used to give him about his work. “Leia’s told me she and Luke liked to tweak it to suit their individual aesthetics whenever they joined you there, but it’s the same place regardless. What do you see when you go in there on your own, I wonder?”

“A forest,” he replies, picturing it now. He doesn’t have to close his eyes to remember how lush and verdant it was, how lively it could be in the rain. If euphoria was a place, that would be it. “It’s fashioned after the place I first met Luke.”

“And is that only when you’re on your own?”

“Well, no…It’s what I used to see when Luke reached out for me.”

She smiles a small smile at him, as if this was what she was hoping to hear. “Then do you think, perhaps, he’s still distantly connected to you?”

It’s an interesting theory. One that’s almost too good to believe, really, because if Luke was still vaguely connected to him, Hux is sure he would’ve reached out to help him long before now.

Hux runs his hand through his hair. He’s not used to it being so soft and loose; the sensation genuinely distracts him for a moment. “If he is, he’s not aware of it.”

“Whatever the case may be, Leia was hoping to get a hold of him through you. Connecting with you on her own was difficult from such a great distance, but she figured she would have an easier time searching your so-called dreamscape once you were together in person.”

Hux shakes his head sadly, remembering all too well the night Ren tore into his mind and began the slow process of pulling apart his brain. “Kylo Ren severed her connection to me. It’s the first thing he did once he figured out what we were up to.”

“It doesn’t matter now. A woman from Jakku and a defector from the First Order provided us with the remaining piece of the map to Luke Skywalker. The woman is on her way to him now.”

Hux is quietly thrilled with this news. The fact that Ren no longer has a way of getting to Luke is enough of a boon, but knowing that they themselves are close to reconnecting with the man is nothing short of a miracle.

“Of course, it’s been years since Luke’s route to Ahch-To was archived,” she continues. “He could’ve left there by now. Even so, we’re at least hoping to find a clue to his current whereabouts.”

Ahch-To? Hux has considerable knowledge of the known universe, and he can’t say he’s ever heard of it. “What was he searching for there?” he asks.

Holdo shrugs. “Leia told me he’s been looking for the first Jedi Temple since before he even decided to build a school. Beyond that, I don’t know. Knowledge, I presume. Maybe something that would help him sway his nephew back to the Light.”

Holdo doesn’t realize how much good it does Hux to hear her say that, to know that Luke’s last known act was a quest for knowledge, potentially something to help Ben Solo find his way back from the darkness. Of course, the fact that Luke’s been gone so long does not bode well for his mission, but if he perished or was otherwise incapacitated, it would at least put an end to the question of where he’s been all these years. Painful as losing him would be, Hux could finally come to terms with his passing.

He could finally understand why he’d been abandoned.

Holdo stares at him curiously for a long moment before rising from her seat. She crosses her arms and begins pacing the length of the room on the other side of the table. Then she says, “Leia’s always been quite fond of you. When Kylo Ren caught you, she was devastated. Bereaved, really. For a while there, we thought you were dead.”

Hux has no trouble believing that. While clearly hardened by war, Leia Organa was still very much a kind and loving woman. She always pitied Hux for the position he’d back himself into when he decided to return to the First Order. He could tell she cared about him.

“She’s a remarkable woman.”

“Do you think Ben would really kill her if the opportunity presented itself?”

Mentally, Hux trips over that line of inquiry. He blinks once to clear the confusion from his mind, still fairly stunned by the non sequitur. “Well…he killed his father with his bare hands, so far as I know. Is he the one who took the shot that put Organa in her coma?”

“No,” Holdo replies. “But I could tell he was contemplating it. There was certainly a part of him that knew he needed her out of the way.”

Hux tilts his head back slightly, eyes narrowed, inquisitive. “Are _you_ a Force user, ma’am?”

Her lips quirk briefly in amusement. “Like you, I occupy the second camp. My peculiarity is that I can read people. Not their minds, though. Just…” she pulls up short in front of the table, waving her hand as she wracks her brain for a satisfactory answer. “… _them_. Their emotions and auras. Their intentions. You, for example, are sad but relieved. Exhausted, certainly, but still determined to help however you can.”

“I am sad,” he admits softly, though it feels good to say it out loud. Sorrow is what pulled him away from the fervent sway of the First Order, the melancholy of meaning nothing to the man who sired him, of the being naught but a living, breathing tool. It was an important emotion, one that was so often taken for granted.

“Which is why I asked Dameron to take you to see Leia earlier, to give you an opportunity to grieve,” Holdo says. Then she crosses her arms, somber once again. “I apologize, but we monitored your reaction during your visit with her to determine if Ren laid a trap in your mind.”

Hux blinks in surprise. “What?”

“A powerful enough Force user can coerce a person to do just about anything,” she explains. “I wanted to determine if you were subliminally instructed to kill her.”  

He won’t argue with her over that—the logic is very much sound, but it still stings not being wholly trusted after all he sacrificed for the Resistance. To top it off, there’s also a mild degree of discomfort in knowing someone was watching him have a minor mental breakdown. However, his pride can stand to take a few hits now and again. Sobbing over people near and dear to you is supposed to be a natural stress response anyway. He supposes he shouldn’t feel all _that_ ashamed over having a good cry…

“Please don’t take this as a question of your character,” Holdo continues, sensing his unease. “We know who and what you really are, but Force users can bend even the strongest of wills.”

“I understand,” he says. And really, he does. The Resistance took quite the gamble saving him, especially since they already knew how high the risks were going in. “I imagine it would also put a lot of minds at ease if my movements were restricted for the time being…?”  

“If you would consent to having a guard on hand at all times, it would certainly do the trick. Although, if you could keep yourself from wandering too far, that would also help. If Kylo Ren is somehow able to keep tabs on you and continue reading your thoughts, we don’t want you to become an unwilling spy.”

“I can do you one better,” he sighs, ever mindful of the painful twinge in his shoulder. The meds have helped considerably, but he hasn’t been too generous with his injury as of late and that’s only going to continue making matters worse. “If someone would be so kind as to escort me back to my cot, I can stay there for the duration of this…situation. I don’t have the energy to explore, I’m afraid.”

Holdo smiles at him again, the same soft and maternal curl of the lips Organa used to bestow upon him. “I hope you have at least the _slightest_ inclination to explore, because I was going to suggest another jaunt into the dreamscape.”

“To what? Find Luke?”

“If you’re feeling up to it.”

He doesn’t have much hope of finding his mentor there after all these years of silence, but there’s a part of him that wants to give it a go. Even if he doesn’t turn up anything.

“I’ll try,” he offers, “but I can’t make any promises on what I turn up.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she says, shrugging. Then she glances over at the row of blinking lights on the bottom of the holoscreen. Hux doesn’t miss the way she tenses up, remembering the battle at hand. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, General. You should probably get some rest.”

Hux rises slowly from his chair, mindful of his shoulder, eyeing the screen himself. “I know it’s important that you keep your plans from me, but please don’t hesitate to call on me again. I will do everything in my power to help you.”

“I know,” she says softly, smiling her warm smile.

He adjusts his cloth sling and turns away, returning to the door. Although, just as he lifts his hand to touch the access panel beside it, curiosity pinches at the back of his brain. He turns to her once again. “If you don’t mind, I have something of a personal question for you.”

“Ask away.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, wondering how to word his inquiry without striking a nerve. “Captain Dameron…what is it you sense in him?”

Holdo’s eyebrows arch in mild surprise, but she looks more intrigued than offended at his prying. Her gaze drops to the floor as she contemplates her response. “When I think of Captain Dameron, I sense…I _see_ a burning candle dancing in the darkness, licking up the oxygen from an ever-burgeoning wind. It’s fierce, despite it’s size, and the only thing keeping the shadows at bay.” There’s a touch of sadness in her eyes when she lifts her gaze to his face, a weariness that he knows all too well. “He’s warm and well-intentioned, but if the wind topples him over, he’ll set us all on fire. That’s why he has me worried.”

Hux nods his thanks and takes his leave.

He knows how difficult it can be to tame a fire without snuffing it out.

~***~

Lieutenant Connix is kind enough to escort him back to his makeshift room. They return to find his pale scrubs from earlier half-heartedly folded by Dameron on the bed.

Connix eyes the clothes and then his arm before she sheepishly says, “Do you need a hand getting dressed? Shev dealt with that part earlier…”

The indignity of being an invalid is something he’s never going to get used to. He can feel his face burning as he clears his throat and says, “Just with the sling, tunic, and boots, please. I can handle the jodhpurs myself.”

“They’re called ‘pants’,” she corrects as she sets about sorting him out, smirking at the foreign term.

“‘Jodhpurs’,” he murmurs in return.

She sticks around to help him with half of his ordeal, then drags out a bucket from behind one of the crates and sets it down beside his bed before heading to the door. “In case you get sick,” she explains, standing in the threshold. “Or…well, you know. I’m locking the door, but someone will be by in a few hours to check up on you. There are more flasks of water in the crate in the far back corner if you feel like you’re dying of thirst. If you’re dying from unrelated reasons, there’s a panic button on the monitor over your bed. Or scream. The doors on this ship aren’t all that thick.”

“Thank you,” he says, eyeing the crate and monitor in turn. Then he watches as she slips out into the hallway, winking at him before the door slides shut again.

Exhausted, he makes quick work of swapping out his jodhpurs for the cotton pants before leaning gingerly back on the cot. The painkillers are already wearing off, he supposes, which is why every small jostle stirs up a little trouble in his shoulder. It takes him a surprisingly long time to find a comfortable position on his back before he feels the familiar pull of sleep. He’s struck by the usual transitory weightlessness just as his thoughts devolve into nonsense. He sees a burning candle and then nothing as the wind whips all the light in the room out of existence.

He opens his eyes again and sees a straw roof above him.

He’s lying flat on his cot—the one on Luke’s planet, of course. It feels real, but that’s the nature of dreams; it takes him a while to convince himself he’s really entered the dreamscape and not simply running through his memory reel. Then he sits up and glances across the empty firepit at Luke’s corner. Nothing’s there. Not even a scuff mark on the dusty floor. He’s alone, so far as he can tell.

He’s far enough removed from the throbbing pain in his shoulder that his arm hangs freely at his side, sans the sling. There’s no blood on his scrubs anymore. No nausea either. Which is a good start. So he stands and stretches, enjoying the imaginary full range of motion of his arms, and then begins his search.

He grabs the walking stick by the door along the way, more out of habit than anything else. It’s smooth to the touch, its rough edges having been whittled away by knife in Luke’s gentle hands. Hux wonders what thoughts Luke entertained as he worked on it in his peculiar silence. He was always thinking about something, even when it looked like he was thinking about nothing at all.

Hux mainly uses the stick to swat at the thick vegetation around his calves as he works his way to the lake. There’s already something of a ‘desire path’ a little ways over to the north that he normally uses, but Luke often wandered into the forest with no clear direction in mind and so that’s how Hux is going to go about this too. He once thought that was because Luke was still searching for his Artifact, but now Hux figures it was because Luke was searching for something else a little less tangible.

Predictably, he sees nothing of interest along the way. No footprints. Not even a scrap of cloth from a snagged tunic. Hux is mildly disappointed, despite his long-held expectation of turning up nothing. But then he wonders if he’s setting himself up for disaster by expecting nothing, and that gives him pause. Holdo _did_ say this whole dimension was of his own making. If he continues to expect nothing, that’s sure to be all he finds.

If Luke were here now, Hux feels like he would instruct him to relax and meditate, to put himself in a deeper mindset, one better able to pick up on anything of interest in his immediate environment. However, Hux doesn’t know how far down he can safely go into his head while already being in the dead centre of it, so he ventures onward to the lake and drops down on the sandy beach to watch the sun-dappled water and concentrate.

Even if he doesn’t find anything, it feels good to sit here and relax. His waking self could never understand the appeal of wanting to take time away from a busy life to lie on a beach somewhere warm and obscure and do absolutely nothing. But then, his waking self was always taught that inactivity made a person an easy target. The key to survival was to keep moving; keep thinking. You could rest when you were dead.

Life with his waking self has certainly been an experience.

Or… _had_ been an experience? Hux isn’t so sure about what tense to use anymore. If he gives Ren the slip for good, his waking self will never see the light of day again he supposes…

His waking self is a horrid creature, no question there, but Hux can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at his proverbial passing. His other half was a real man—was the man he would be right now if not for Luke’s intervention. It almost seems cruel to let him bleed away into non-existence without giving him a chance to make peace with his situation. In fact, his last conscious memory would be the pseudo-assassination attempt on _Starkiller_ base. All things considered, that would’ve been his final moment, the true hour of his death. From there, he slipped into a slumber from which he would never wake, at least so far as his lucid self was concerned.

Did he just kill a man?

Sighing, Hux extends the staff and begins drawing nonsensical signs in the sand. He’s supposed to be clearing his mind, but he isn’t doing a good job of it. In fact, his thoughts feel oddly disjointed right now. He might be in too deep. Maybe.

Once he’s expended a little pent up energy in his drawings, he drops the staff down in the sand beside him and lies back. He stares up at the sky and tries to think of nothing again.

It works for a short while before an errant thought stumbles across his mind. Of all the things that could’ve interrupted his peace, it’s a glimmer of light against metal, a knife in his father’s hand, here to fix him for good this time.

Hux shudders. The memory of his father and his knife transitions swiftly to the memory of blood, rich and red against pale skin—his skin, with the rain trickling down the palm of his hand as the waves licked at his thighs. Then he heard the root snap and he was borne away, back into the waking world—

Hux’s brain trips over that last thought. He doesn’t know if he was in the ‘dreamscape’ before Connix woke him, post-surgery, or if he was just dreaming. It’s so hard to tell. He never used to dream real dreams much before meeting Luke and Leia. His mind has been a little bent out of shape since then.

He tries to banish _that_ thought as soon as it comes, because it sounds dangerously close to something Ren told him once before. Instead, Hux focuses on the fact that he’d been convinced someone was with him the last time he entered the dreamscape, long before Holdo suggested Luke might still be connected to him. Therefore, it might actually be true.

Hux doesn’t move from his spot on the beach. He thinks about not being alone, about the sensation of someone watching him. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he feels that way now, as if someone is nearby, waiting for him to act.

Hux waits as well, body tense, listening, willing them to make the first move.

He hears another branch snapping underfoot.

_“Are you still alive?”_

Hux blinks, disorientated.

The blue sky is gone. So is the sunlight and the soothing sound of water lapping at the beach. He’s back on the ship, head and shoulder throbbing in pain, blinded by the bright light overhead.

“Lights to fifty percent,” Dameron says, chuckling softly under his breath as Hux rubs his burning eyes, waiting for the bulbs to dim. The Captain unscrews the lid from a flask of water before handing it over to Hux once he can see clearly again.

Hux carefully takes a few mouthfuls to wet his throat, careful not to choke. He so desperately wishes he could get something for the pain again, but he doesn’t trust the Resistance’s current medical stock enough to continue putting his life at risk like that. It’s a lottery he’s grown weary of.

As for being awakened at such a crucial moment, Hux is both irritated and relieved. He was tantalizingly close to figuring out whether he was still connected to Luke. However, any sound in the forest could have been the product of his desire to find someone. He might’ve willed an imaginary person into existence, which wouldn’t have helped his search at all.

“How bad do I look?” he asks, thinking back to Dameron’s initial comment. Of course, he’s _assuming_ Dameron was the one asking after his state of mortality…

“Completely drained,” Dameron replies, taking the flask and stealing a sip before replacing the cap. “Your lips are kind of blue. You’re not bleeding out, are you?”

Hux glances down awkwardly at his shoulder. As much as it hurts, he can tell the wound isn’t wet beneath the bandages anymore. Connix did a fantastic job with the stitches.

“I’m fine,” Hux says. Even if he wasn’t, there’s no way of improving his condition with the supplies on hand.

“Okay, good.” Dameron crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting against thigh, hunched forward in a semi-comfortable position on one of the crates beside the bed. His posture is incredibly loose and relaxed in comparison to the line of tension at the corner of his eyes. Hux imagines he isn’t relaxed at all, that he’s simply accustomed to giving off an air of ease to keep his subordinates calm and focused. “You’ve been out for quite some time. I thought you might want to go for a walk and get the blood flowing again.”

Hux wonders how long he’s been out. He feels stiff and drowsy, like he’s slept for hours.

It would do him good to get moving again.

“Yes, thank you,” he says, struggling upright. Dameron lends him a hand, palm between his shoulder blades. The room spins briefly as he sits on the edge of his cot, trying to get his bearings.

“Hungry?” Dameron asks, rummaging through his jacket pocket for a wad of jerky wrapped in plastic. He cuts the edge open with his teeth and offers the meat to Hux.

Grateful, Hux takes a strip and tears a piece off with his mouth. He can’t remember the last time he ate solid food. Pretty much the only sustenance he’s received since his injury was via IV drip. The umami and salty taste prompts a soft grumble from his stomach. Which, of course, earns him a chuckle from Dameron.

“You’re pretty lean for a higher up,” Dameron says, watching him devour the wad of jerky. “I thought the First Order was loaded. You guys don’t ever put steak on the menu?”

Hux shrugs his good shoulder. The First Order _was_ loaded, so to speak, but it was hardly the lap of luxury “We’re fed the same flavorless rations as the stormtroopers. Truth be told, most of the officers are brainwashed by the same techniques. It promotes a hive-minded attitude. You might get a larger berth and a softer uniform if you decide to climb the ranks, but your true motives for doing so are supposed to be for the honor and glory.”

“Is that why your ‘other’ self became a General?” Dameron asks as he takes the empty wrap from Hux and passes him the water flask again.

Hux takes a swig, feeling infinitely better now that he’s been able to feed and water himself. “For the most part, yes. And for the power it obviously afforded him. He wanted to outshine our father and leverage the influence he needed to kill him.”

Dameron’s brow furrows in curiosity. “Why’d he kill your father?”

Oh, what a complicated question…Hux decides to keep it brief. “For the complete lack of human dignity he bestowed upon us. I wasn’t a person so far as he was concerned. Just a tool. I lived in fear of my life throughout my childhood.”

Hissing softly between his teeth, Dameron rises from his perch and offers a hand to help Hux up onto his feet. “I can’t image living in fear of my parents. They worked a lot, but damn if I didn’t love them.”

Hux keeps the flask of water on hand as Dameron leads him out the door. He spots Connix down the hall, leaning against the wall, nodding to them in greeting before she glances down the other way at a group of agitated men conversing loudly amongst themselves. Dameron leads him in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, tilting his head from one side to the other to stretch out a kink in his neck.

“Were your parents members of the Rebellion?” Hux asks, genuinely interested in keeping the conversation going.

“Absolutely,” Dameron grins. “My old man was a Pathfinder in the ground team that destroyed the Death Star’s deflector shield generator in the Battle of Endor. And my mother was an A-wing pilot who fought in probably more battles than I can count. Flew with the Green Squadron during Endor. She taught me how to fly before she passed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was a long time ago,” Dameron says, his smile softening with sorrow before coming back full force. He tugs on the chain around his neck, showing off the small ring hanging there. “This was her wedding band. It’s kind of become a good luck charm for me.”

Hux feels a different pang in his chest, that little twist of longing for a different past, for parents whom he could adore and who adored him in return. Hux was given everything his father ever owned in his passing, but his waking self burned pretty much everything except for Brendol’s death certificate. That was the only memento his other self felt was worth keeping.

For a moment, Dameron seems lost in thought. They walk in silence for a long while before he tucks the wedding band behind his shirt and sighs. “I like what you represent,” he says.

“What do I represent?”

“Leia told us how you met Luke,” he explains. “So, you know, you represent the fact that a little human kindness goes a long way. You represent hope. I think that’s important in times like these, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, although he doesn’t know who his story is going to inspire if the First Order catches up to them. Ren said they had less than two cycles worth of fuel and Hux has no idea how long he’s been out already. The time he spends in the real world and the dreamscape don’t seem to add up.

Eventually, they come across a group of people frantically packing small supplies crates onto a trolley. One man looks up at them and nods at Dameron before returning to his work.

Heeding Holdo’s words, Hux tries not to look too hard at what they’re doing, afraid that he might figure out what the Resistance is up to.

“We should head back,” Hux says, glancing over his shoulder. He’s not sure where they are right now, only that he’s probably wandered too far already.

“Yeah, but you look like you could use a quick break first.” Dameron eyes him up before stepping over to a door on the left and thumbing the button on the wall panel beside it. It slides open to reveal a small, empty office.

Hux is admittedly fatigued, so he follows Dameron into the room and takes a seat on the couch in the corner. Which might’ve been a mistake, because he doesn’t know where he’s going to find the energy to get back up again.

Dameron crosses his arms and leans back against the side of the desk. The door to the office is still open, so he watches one of the trollies roll by before he turns to Hux. “I know you had a meeting with the Vice Admiral after the holo-chat. Did she tell you what the plan is?”

Hux frowns. “Well…in the interests of keeping Kylo Ren from miraculously plucking said plan from my mind, we’re both of the opinion that I should be kept out of the loop. Ren is obviously stronger than he was before my escape and I don’t know how far he can reach now with his powers.”

“Then I’ll try to keep this as vague as possible…” He shifts his weight between his feet, still leaning against the desk, figuring out the best delivery for whatever it is he’s about to bombard Hux with. “The _Raddus_ currently has the _Supremacy_ and at least a dozen Resurgent-class Star Destroyers on its tail. If it came down to a fight, what do you think would happen?”

“The _Raddus_ would be obliterated.” In fact, the _Supremacy_ alone could take it out with a single well-aimed shot. It’s likely Snoke only called the other Star Destroyers to arm so he’d have a larger audience for Leia’s demise. The man was a show off of the nth order.

“My thoughts exactly,” is Dameron’s solemn response. “So what if told you the Vice Admiral’s plan is just to keep on running?”

Sighing, Hux shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Even that was too much information, because now Hux _knew_ the _Raddus_ had no means of successfully retaliating once it was within range of its pursuers. “Then I would tell you she’s likely waiting for backup to arrive or she’s en route to a specific location that would allow her to maneuver away from First Order, despite their hyperspace trackers.”

“Either case is pretty unlikely,” Dameron mutters. “I, on the other hand, have an idea that would help us maneuver away from their fleet sooner rather than later.”

“Which I trust you’ve shared with her…” Hux presses, although he has a feeling he already knows where this is going.

“She’s not going to budge.” Dameron pushes himself off the desk and begins pacing in front of the couch, face pinched with agitation, all his pent-up frustrations now pouring out. Watching him reminds Hux very much of Holdo’s vision of the man, of a small candle with a fickle flame one swift push away from disaster. “She’s dead-set on running.”

“Then run is what you’re going to do.”

Dameron pulls up short suddenly to level Hux a truly incredulous look. “We _can’t_ keep running. You of all people know what the First Order will do once they catch us.”

Hux can feel a headache coming on.

He closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. When he opens them again, he finds Dameron standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking stern. It’s too bad Hux has ample experience dressing people down, both because he knows Dameron is a truly good man and because he doesn’t enjoy putting any person on the spot as much as his waking self does.

Relaxing into his seat, Hux tilts his head back and says, “I find it curious the way the Resistance decided to structure their ranking system… A Wing Commander is a rank below Captain in most military forces, including the First Order. But the way you corrected Lieutenant Connix earlier, I gather it’s the other way around here?”

The corner of Dameron’s lip twitches in agitation. He knows Hux isn’t looking for a history lesson here. “…What of it?”

“You have a real chip on your shoulder when it comes to the Vice Admiral,” Hux says. “Is she the one who demoted you?”

“No,” is Dameron’s clipped response.

The Captain pauses momentarily before opening his mouth to redirect the argument, but Hux is already ready with his next question: “Was it the General?”

“ _Stop_ please,” Dameron snaps, although his energy wobbles on the ‘please’. He rubs his mouth again, closing his eyes to collect himself before he begins anew. “I’ve been working with Leia since before I was old enough to legally fly on my own. This is not the norm for us. I’ve never been demoted before.”

“And Leia Organa is not the kind of woman who suffers fools gladly,” Hux replies. “So it really says something that she decided to demote you instead of striping you of your rank entirely.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But you were still demoted,” Hux continues, undeterred. “And in a time of crisis, no less. I can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve to her ire.”

Dameron grimaces down at the floor. It’s obvious he’s still feeling the sting of his mistake, whatever it was. “It’s…hard to explain.”

“I’m hardly going anywhere.”

Sighing, Dameron takes a seat on the couch beside Hux. He takes his time internally arguing over what he should share with Hux, but eventually he says, “I was instructed to distract the First Order during the evacuation of D’Qar. I mouthed off to Peevish long enough to get the job done, but _then_ I realized we had an opportunity to take out one of the FO’s Dreadnoughts…”

Hux arches his eyebrows in honest surprise. He’s almost too stunned for words. “That’s…”

“Not the kind of move you want to make with a fleet as small as ours. Yeah, I get that.” Bracing his elbows against his knees, Dameron leans forward and folds his hands over the back of his neck, trying to rub the tension out of the muscles there. “We succeeded, but we lost a lot of people. It was a bittersweet victory. I might’ve also lipped off to the General somewhere along the way, but I’ve been trying to block out the memory, so who knows.”

Hux can understand his anguish. Though he was against everything the First Order stood for, Hux took his duties as a General seriously. Stormtroopers were not disposable peons in his opinion.

It was a hard pill to swallow when you realized the smallest miscalculation on your part cost someone their life.

“The fact of the matter is this,” Hux says, forging onward. “The military genius who rewarded and relinquished you of your rank also deemed Holdo worthy of the title of Vice Admiral. If Leia trusts her, so should you.”

Dameron lifts his head again, still frustrated. “Holdo is only leading the charge right now because everyone in the chain of command above her was on the bridge when it exploded.”

“So you mean to tell me she was only miraculously promoted to her position once Leia was out of the picture?”

“ _No_ , that’s not what I’m saying…” Dameron gives him another stern look. It reminds Hux comically of Ren whenever he used to throw a temper. Before this whole mess, of course. Now it’s really not so funny anymore. “Think of it this way: I’m good at what I do. I earned my wings. And yet—” he holds his hands open and apart, as if to encompass his life’s work “—here I am, demoted because of a phenomenally stupid mistake. I’m fallible. So is Holdo. Is it really all that inconceivable that she might be making a phenomenally stupid mistake of her own?”

“Not at all. But everyone in their rank has a unique duty, and so long as everyone does their duty, you can probably recover from her mistake— _if_ she is indeed making a mistake.”

Dameron squints at him in surprise. “Do you _think_ I would be so hung up over this if I thought I could go about my duties merrily under her command?”

“Quite frankly, I don’t blame her for being leery of you and your advice,” Hux says bluntly, finally adopting the tone of voice he usually reserves for unruly subordinates. “Your attitude right now is non-communicative and hostile. If I was your commanding officer, I wouldn’t trust your judgement either.”

Remarkably, that shuts Dameron right up. He blinks at Hux, clearly stunned.

Hux sighs. “If you want my advice, go somewhere to cool down for a while and then apologize to her. Tell her you want to help her to the best of your abilities and ask for your orders. By the end of the conversation, she might very well feel confident enough to let you in on the finer details of her plan.”

“Is that how it works in the First Order?” Dameron mutters. Even so, the fight’s evidently gone out of him. “Your hotheaded subordinates apologize, and you all just carry on like usual?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Consider, if you will, Captain Peavey.” Hux actually hated bringing Peavey into a conversation in any capacity, but he was a suitable enough example in this situation. “The man’s been in the military longer than I’ve been alive, and yet the highest rank he will likely achieve is Captain. Not for a lack of trying, of course. He’s made some unfortunate blunders in his career that gutted any chances he has of progressing to Major, and yet he’s still one of my more capable officers. Don’t get me wrong—we _loath_ each other, but even as he’s cursing my name under his breath in the heat of battle I can still trust him to follow my orders to a tee. That’s why he’s survived all the other Captains who’ve come before him, the ones who enjoyed both cursing my name and _not_ following my orders.”

Dameron nods, finally leaning back into the cushion of the couch. He looks a little more relaxed, if still dissatisfied with the run of things. “And I get that. Really. It’s just feels counterintuitive to retreat.”

“Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war.” Hux knew how hard that could be, especially when having to report his failures to someone like Snoke. It was hard to fashion one’s self a disappointment. “But your job isn’t to man the ship. That’s her job—so _let_ her do her job, please.”

Dameron stares at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he cracks the barest of grins. “You know, I can see why Leia likes you. I certainly like you myself.”

Nobody has said that to him before. Hux feels oddly touched. “Thank you?”

Just then, someone pops into view in the hallway. That someone just so happens to be Connix. She stops short in the doorway and gives Dameron a very serious look. The two of them stare at each other for a long, tense moment before Dameron turns back to Hux. He looks grim now.

Hux’s first thought is of the General. “Is it Leia?” he asks.

“No,” Dameron sighs, “It’s…you, actually.”

Hux can feel every muscle in his body tensing, bracing for whatever unfortunate surprise lies ahead. “What about me?”

Dameron licks his lips. “Well…what if I told you Holdo is planning on handing you over to the First Order to buy us more time?”

Hux immediately thinks back to Ren’s parting words, of how confident he was that the Resistance would turn him over to the First Order eventually. He wonders if Holdo had been considering it even then, if that was why she didn’t confirm Dameron’s promise to protect him.

It hurts to think so.

But he can’t blame her if she did.

Weak as he feels, Hux pushes himself up to his feet with his good arm and gently readjusts his sling. Everyone has their duty. Even him. “Then I guess this is goodbye…”

He turns back around to see Dameron staring at him sadly. The Captain shakes his head as he says, “Man, I _really_ like you…”

In the corner of his eye, Hux catches sight of Connix moving. He glances over at her to see a blaster now in her hand, trained on him.

Frowning, he asks, “What’s going on?”

“We don’t actually know if she’s planning on handing you over, but it’s certainly on our worst-case scenario list,” Dameron explains, rising to his feet. He looks mildly ashamed. “Which is why I removed you from your make-shift cell and far from any place she would think to look for you. I was hoping to sway you to our side, but you take this whole honor and duty thing _very_ seriously…”

It finally clicks then what this is all about. Hux is floored, to say the least. “You’re… _mutinying_ against the Vice Admiral?”

“Yes.”

Oh, stars, _no_ … “Mutinies never go over well. I don’t think I can stress how _bad_ of an idea this is, Captain.”

Dameron waves him toward the door. “And for what it’s worth, I think you give excellent advice, even if I disagree with it. In fact, since you’re someone with considerable experience leading an army, I thought this would go a lot smoother with your help.”

“I’m sorry,” Connix says softly, taking a wide step back to keep clear of him as he leaves the office. She pulls a second blaster out of her hip holster and hands it to Dameron when he joins them. “Please don’t make me stun you.”

Well, at least it’s a relief they don’t want to kill him. Even so, electrocution to the point of comatose isn’t on his limited to-do list for the day. Glumly, he says, “Where are you taking me?”

Dameron nods his head down the hall, passed where their crewmates were working earlier. “Somewhere as equally obscure as here but with a door that locks from the outside.”

Baffled, Hux turns about-face and, with a heaviness in his heart, makes his way the short distance down the corridor to what he assumes is the brig, but which actually turns out to be some kind of dock. It isn’t until they reach the far end of the room that Hux realizes where Dameron has led him.

Connix is the first to voice their collective confusion. “I didn’t know you could lock an escape pod from the outside?”

Dameron climbs into the one on the far left and pops open a panel above the door. Fiddling with something out of sight, he says, “You can make escape pods do oodles of crazy things. The reverse lock mechanism was designed to keep people from playing the hero and docking back onto the ship during an evacuation.”

Odd, but Hux could still work around a locked door. He’d just fire himself off into space and fly past a viewport until someone who wasn’t completely out of their mind noticed him and realized something was amiss.

Unfortunately, the smile and the wink Dameron shares with him once he steps out of the escape pod does not bode well for him. “You also can’t eject yourself. Only someone from the bridge can.” He pats Hux gently on his good shoulder as he passes. “Which I don’t imagine you’d want to happen, anyway. If the wannabe Sith Lord is keeping tabs on you, the only thing preventing him from blowing us to smithereens is the fact that you’re still on board.”

Taking a deep breath, Hux begrudgingly ducks into the escape pod. He sets his flask of water on the seat beside him and stares back out at Dameron. “Please, don’t do this,” he says before shifting his gaze over to Connix, who at least has the decency to look troubled by the proceedings. “What do you think Leia would have to say about this?”

“We’re doing this _for_ Leia,” Dameron interjects sharply. Then he takes a moment to compose himself and calmly says, “Just sit tight, General. You’re only on time-out until the festivities are over. We’ll be back for you soon.”

And with that, Dameron flips the switch on the panel outside the door.

There’s a faint hiss followed by a high-pitched whine as the pod seals itself completely to the outside environment. Immediately afterward, a light goes on overhead as the small shuttle begins filtering and recycling its limited air supply. He knows a pod like this can sustain up to four individuals for roughly ten or so days, although he has no designs of wallowing in here for that long.

Through the small window in the door, he watches as Dameron and Connix race off to continue their little disaster in the making. Connix glances back at him briefly before they disappear around a piece of machinery, brow still furrowed with concern.

Angry as he is with their betrayal, Hux can’t find it in himself to hate them. They’re the kind of fools in the universe that deserve pity.

Once they’re out of sight, Hux reaches up to flick the switch under a small speaker on the wall behind him. If this pod is anything like the ones on the _Finalizer_ , he should be able to get in touch with the bridge from here.

Unfortunately, the little red light above the speaker remains off no matter how many times he flips the switch. Shouting into it for help also ends in failure. Finally, he resorts to opening the panel Dameron meddled with earlier in the hopes that he can reverse whatever the Captain did, but all that reveals is a mess of colored wires mingled together in a formation that means absolutely nothing to him despite his background in engineering. In fact, one of the smaller wires has been complete snapped out of the panel. Dameron just permanently ruined an escape pod.

Frustrated, he slams the panel shut. Then he pounds it with the side of his fist.

It’s as though the Force doesn’t want him to catch a break…

Hux isn’t in the habit of exploding when the going gets tough, mostly because that’s an exhausting way of dealing with stress in general, which is why he can’t understand how Ren has the energy to continuously blow his top at the slightest infraction. So, he takes a deep breath and settles down in one of the seats by the viewport. If he leans close to the transparisteel window, he can make out almost the entirety of the _Supremacy_ and the gaggle of Star-Destroyers flanking it.

It won’t be long now before Snoke closes in on them.

Wearily, he closes his eyes and wanders back into the dreamscape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Words cannot describe how much I love Holdo and Dameron. Their subplot was definitely my favorite. It's just so hard to watch two genuinely good people feud with each other because of their inability to communicate. Such a beautiful disaster.
> 
> Anyway, I think I've got like 4 or so chapters left? I'm going to try to speed up the updates. I'm really sorry for taking so long between chapters.


	13. Heavy is the heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's Friday at long last! Enjoy the update, everyone, and the weekend!

_“You save yourself or you remain unsaved.”_

― Alice Sebold

~***~

He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.

He _hopes_ he can find a connection to someone in the outside world but he might be limited to contacting Force users in the dreamscape, of which his options are few and far between. Leia is still in a coma, so far as he is aware, and Holdo has an admittedly restricted influence over the Force herself. Hux could still make an _attempt_ to reach out to either of them, but it’s more than likely he’ll have no choice but to wait for Dameron or one of the other insurgents to release him from his make-shift prison.  

His only recourse, then, is to continue his search for Luke.

Which, to be honest, is no less of an impossible feat since the last time he entered the dreamscape. But seeing as he has nothing better to do, Hux allows himself to slip back into the void, popping out the other end lying on the beach by the lake, Luke’s staff beside him, the subtle sounds of the forest flowing over and through like water in a gurgling stream.

He takes a moment to soak in the warmth of the midday sun before hauling himself up onto his feet. He brushes the sand off his scrubs and grabs the staff. Then he heads for the trees.

During his stay with Luke, he never ventured far on the planet. His injuries from the crash limited his movements and everything he needed was within walking distance of the hut. He was never in want for food or water, and there were no predators large enough to trouble them, at least to his knowledge. In fact, Hux never once felt as though he needed to escape the planet. He belonged there. It was an unspoken fact of his backward life.

Luke, on the other hand, wandered far and wide, both while he was in Hux’s company and long before Hux’s shuttle crashed. He could be literally anywhere…

Now that he thinks about it, Hux doesn’t even remember where he crashed; he has a vague sense that it lies somewhere in the east. He was unconscious when Luke dragged him out of the wreckage and he never felt the need to ask him about it. He was just grateful to be alive.

Sighing, Hux picks a direction and heads off to his nameless destination, swatting branches away with his staff along the way. For the most part though, he tries to keep his noise level down, glancing over his shoulder every now and again to see if he’s still alone. He doesn’t _feel_ alone, although not in the sense that someone is directly observing him. It feels more like a mutual and indirect awareness, the same level of social perception he experiences on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ : he is cognisant of his officers and they are cognisant of him, even when neither one of them is consciously engaged with the other.

He stops every so often to listen and _feel_ , hoping to pick up on something that will help him elucidate the genuine presence of another living being. Sadly, nothing immediately jumps out at him, but he persists in trying to keep his mind open to the possibility of connecting with anyone willing to reach out to him in return.

His life goes on like this for hours.

It feels like hours, in any case. He wonders how much time has passed in the real world and if it’s possible to gauge how much. He can’t even tell if time runs faster or slower in this realm, or even if it’s always the same case whenever he visits.

He never seemed to be here for very long whenever Luke or Leia accompanied him into the dreamscape. Perhaps they had better control over the temporal dimensions of this world. Or perhaps it’s just his nerves skewing his perception of time and space. After all, it’s still an upward battle to concentrate here.

At long last, Hux stumbles across something of interest.

Quite literally.

His left foot smarts something awful as it connects sharply with an old, rusted panel concealed by creeping vines. The sound of impact and his sharp cry echo up into the sky, scaring a flock of avians from the thick canopy overhead. He curses under his breath. Then he realizes what just happened.

There’s nothing remarkable about the panel itself. The true revelation is that it’s only one of the many panels scattered around him. Turning on the spot, he realizes they’re practically everything—as well as a hulking mass behind him on his left, the body of a shuttle warped beyond recognition, its charred remains buried beneath a thick layer of vines and moss. He can’t believe he almost missed it.

At a glance, he can’t tell if it’s his shuttle or another ship. It isn’t until he’s able to tear away some of the vegetation that he sees the faded First Order insignia painted on one of its crippled wings.

It’s his alright.

There’s no way of getting inside to search for clues, so far as he can tell. Not that he has any desire to climb back inside that veritable tomb. He’s looking for a person, after all, not equipment or more fuel for his nightmares.

All the same, he takes a cursory look around the shuttle itself, hoping to find a footprint or _something_ worthy of a follow-up. Otherwise, he doesn’t know what other location would hold any significance for Luke on this planet. It’s this or bust.

Tired, Hux wanders around the shuttle until he finds a decently sized boulder upon which to park himself and rest. Then he closes his eyes and thinks. The way he sees it, Luke would’ve had to have been nearby the crash site to save him before he succumbed to the fire and his wounds. So either serendipity was in play that day and Luke was just ambling around in the vicinity, or he was there for a reason…

Hux opens his eyes again. Luke said he found the Artifact before Hux arrived. Assuming he had no other reason to linger on the planet, he likely uncovered it soon before the crash. Therefore, whatever hallow place housed this Artifact would have to be close by.

Hux smiles.

He pushes himself up off the rock and begins winding his way around the site again, widening his circle as he goes. Even with a plan in mind, he still doesn’t know _what_ he’s looking for. An altar, perhaps? A hidden temple? Snoke used to send Ren on the occasional quest to steal Sith Artifacts, which his co-commander once openly admitted were nigh impossible to find. Force users were notorious for concealing their wisdom from the non-sensitive masses. Hux might never find it.

Eventually, Hux does turn up something, although he doesn’t know what it is at first. It’s five wooden posts evenly spaced a few feet apart in a straight line. The top of each is decorated with an eight-point star made of twigs, curiously wrapped up with a small chain. It isn’t until Hux tears the weeds off one of the stars that he realized the chain belongs to a set of military-issued dog tags.

There’s a sudden numbness in his limbs as he gently unwinds the chain enough to turn the tag over in his hand. He reads the inscription:

_Valson_

_Ava N._

_SX-3885_

_O Negative_

It takes Hux a moment to process what he’s seeing…

These posts belonged to his crewmates.

These are their graves.

Not only did Luke come back to bury his companions after saving Hux, thereby affording them a greater dignity than anything the Force Order would feel compelled to bestow upon their own enemies, but Luke also apparently took the time to commend their names to memory. They were still at the back of his mind when he created the dreamscape. He didn’t feel the need to forget them,

Seeing evidence of this small kindness brings the sting of unshed tears to his eyes. Whatever darkness Ren saw in his uncle the night they fought, it didn’t define Luke in the slightest. He was always a kind and gentle man, one who showed Hux more generosity and compassion than the monster that sired him—

He hears it again suddenly, the sharp snap of wood and the rustles of leaves, a stirring of his consciousness somewhere not too far up ahead. In fact, between the trees he thinks he sees—

—a momentary darkness, accompanied by a searing pain.

He collapses forward into one of the grave markers, snapping the post off at the base. The back of his head smarts as specks of color and light dance across his vision. He immediately scrambles to his feet again, heart racing, whipping around to face his assailant.

But the moment he latches eyes on the man, his entire body seizes up.  

Dressed in his neatly pressed grey uniform, as young and lean as he was in the days of the Empire’s glory, stands General Brendol Hux. He looks almost completely apathetic but for the subtle sneer at the corner of his lips, his usual facial affect when weighing the current value of his son. In his hands is a large, jagged stone, the underside wet with a reddish-brown sheen.

Hux reaches up to dab at the back of his head with his fingers. They come back covered in blood.

His vision swims. His head throbs with every heart beat, a terrible pressure pushing outward from behind his eyes and ears. It’s a miracle he’s still standing.

That could’ve been a killing blow.

Brendol tosses the stone aside. “Such a disappointment,” he breathes, face pinched with disgust as he reaches for the blaster at his side.

Hux doesn’t know if he can die in the dreamscape but he has no desire to find out. The second Brendol’s hand goes for his blaster, Hux lifts his right leg and kicks the man square in the chest. Brendol falls back, his face slack with surprise.

Hux runs.

He staggers half-blind through the forest, not caring where he goes, only that he keeps his trajectory as complicated as possible. He winds between the trees, zig-zagging every which way—only narrowly avoiding the blast that soars over his right shoulder and sears into the tree ahead of him. A shower of leaves and sparks rain down upon him as he dodges to the left and jumps over a fallen log. His feet hit the ground on the other side—

—and then go straight on through as the vegetation gives way beneath him.

He tumbles through a narrow chasm, slipping through a tangle of vines and thorns until he hits the wet bottom with a heavy thump. Winded, he lies there in a shallow pool of rot for a moment before pushing himself up onto his knees. Everything hurts. From head to toe, he’s covered in cuts, the larger gashes still stinging as he tries to brush the mud from his hands.

Tilting his head back, he looks up at the thin sliver of light above. He just fell ten or so feet, but he can still hear his father moving overhead, likely searching for a safer route to follow his son down into the earth.

Panicked, Hux staggers to his feet and follows the broken stream farther down into the cavern, pushing his way through the dense vegetation as quickly as he can. He wishes he’d wake up already. In fact, he should’ve taken into consideration his lack of control over exiting the dreamscape before he ventured back into the great unknown. As far as oversights go, this is probably one of his worst offences.

It gets colder and darker the farther he treks. So cold, that the vines and branches he pushes out of the way are now brown and brittle, snapping away at the slightest touch. He’s almost tempted to turn back, but he knows somehow that his father is not too far behind him. Sooner or later, he’s going to catch up to Hux.

Inevitably, he reaches an end of sorts. The vines give way to a hollow space—a corridor, he realizes, as he trips over an errant root and nearly comes crashing down on a wet stone floor. The brittle branches high above him let in a little more light here, illuminating the peculiar stone work. He realizes that the tiles on the left side of the corridor are darker than the ones on the right. The two shades bleed into one another on the floor beneath his feet, as if colliding in space.

Hux glances both ways down the corridor. Either path he chooses, the corridor curves around a bend, leading to stars-know-where. There’s no indication of which route will lead him farther from his father.

He runs a hand through his damp hair. The taste of ozone is on the tip of his tongue. He can feel the planet humming beneath his feet.

With a shudder, he turns to the right and starts down the corridor, hoping his father chooses the other direction. In fact, his hopes of evading Brendol increase marginally when he reaches a fork in the road. He takes the left path, then goes right at the next intersection. He hardly cares which way he’s going or if he ever finds a way out of this place; he just needs to put as much distance between himself and the phantom of his father as humanely possible.

He just has to survive.

After a short while, once the adrenaline’s worn off and he can feel all the aches and pains of his body a little more clearly, he slows down to more of an amble. He feels warmer now, despite the fact that he’s soaking wet and shivering. He must be in shock. There’s no way of telling in a place like this, considering it’s imaginary.

Inevitably, he comes across another intersection. The way to his left and up ahead look about the same, but he catches a glimpse of something bright in the corner of his right eye. He turns his head to behold a small chamber, the branches above cleared away so that the sunlight comes flooding in through a large crater in the crumbling ceiling. It illuminates a stone altar.

And a man in a white robe standing before it.

His back is turned, but there’s a part of Hux that feels this is what he was searching for. His heart skips a beat. His stomach turns. The cautious tendrils of hope worm their way into his soul as he takes a hesitant step into the chamber. The man is praying, he thinks. Hux doesn’t know if he should interrupt him. He can’t find his voice.

He licks his lips and quietly continues forward. It feels so much warmer in here. Peaceful. This must be where Luke found the Artifact. This is where he left the entrance to his connection between them.

His throat tightens with emotion. He reaches out to touch Luke’s shoulder.

Something warm and noisome roils over in his stomach.

He’s felt fear before, but this…this is something different. It isn’t coming from within. Rather, it’s an outside force flowing through him, screaming at him to turn away. His heart begins to race inside his chest as the sensation increases.

He wonders if this is what it feels like to communicate through the Force, to be connected to something more knowledgeable than himself.

Sick with unease, Hux pulls back his hand.

As he does, the figure finally whirls around to face him. The robe falls away as a leather-clad hand darts out, catching Hux by the wrist.

“Did you honestly believe he was still here?” Ren seethes, holding fast when Hux jerks back in surprise.

Hux tries to yank his hand free, but Ren doesn’t relent, crushing the small carpal bones in his grasp. Then he tries to pry Ren’s fingers off with his other hand, too blinded by the pain to recognize the futility of his efforts. “Let go!”

“I wonder what makes you think you’re so special,” Ren hisses. “Why would he choose to communicate with you over my mother, his only sister? Or my father, his oldest friend? If he cared about _any_ of you, he would’ve returned to the game long ago.”

“This isn’t a game—”

“The way you and my mother behave, I find that hard to believe.” Ren twists Hux’s hand palm-up before sliding his thumb over his knuckles, forcing Hux’s wrist to bend upward in an extreme ulnar deviation. Then he bends it even farther back, toward Hux’s chest.

Hux collapses to one knee, crying out in agony. For the life of him he can’t remember the basic self-defence techniques he learned as a junior officer at the Academy. Ren is going to break his arm. “ _Stop_ —”

“It’s as if you expect him to materialize in the eleventh hour,” Ren breathes, his voice a distant sound in Hux’s ears. There’s a moment then when reality wavers, pain lancing up Hux’s arm and directly into his brain. “Like I’ve been trying to tell you, he _isn’t_ your friend, Armitage. He isn’t your mentor, your father, or your savior. He’s just a man who saw an opportunity and took it. He’s not coming for you.”

Finally, Ren relinquishes his hold, pushing Hux’s arm away sharply, nearly toppling the other man over. But even off balance Hux manages to stay upright, struggling back to his full height again. He takes a few, wide paces back from Ren, his heart thundering in his chest. He almost trips over a loose stone from the crumbling floor tiles in his haste to distance himself from the man, whatever good that will do him. If this truly is Ren, Hux can’t outrun him or his powers.

Over the manic rhythm of his heartbeat, Hux hears something else:

The soft shuffle of a boot against stone behind him.

Hux pivots as his father levels his blaster at him, left arm extended, close enough to blow Hux’s face off with a single shot. Instinct finally kicks in as Hux reaches forward with his right hand to grab the barrel of the blaster while wrapping his left hand around his father’s wrist. Simultaneously, he then ducks his head to the left while twisting his father’s arm sharply to the right before Brendol can pull the trigger.

Hux wholly intends to snatch the blaster right out of Brendol’s hand, but his wrist spasms in pain and the weapon falls to the floor instead. The agony is enough of a distraction that Hux fails to block the upward swing of Brendol’s fist toward his ribs, successfully knocking Hux back a step.

In fact, the strike hurts an awful lot more than it rightfully should. Alarmingly, a wide arch of deep red droplets flies from Brendol’s hand as he pulls his arm back. It’s blood, of course, and it’s dripping from the steel blade in his hand, the one he usually hides up his sleeve. A younger, more callous Armitage Hux loved the idea of a concealed weapon so much it inspired the creation of his own retractable monomolecular wrist blades. In fact, it’s the only habit of Brendol’s his waking self cared enough to emulate.

Sluggishly, he tries to bat Brendol’s hand away as he stabs at Hux a second time, a little higher up, slipping the blade between Hux’s ribs again before pulling his arm back. It punches the breath right out of Hux, the cold pull of shock hooking itself in his lungs and gut and _twisting_ viciously. Hux gasps for air as he takes a step back and stumbles. He finally collapses to the ground.

And like the monster from his childhood, Brendol falls upon him with savage delight.

Hux is clearly disadvantaged in the ensuing struggle. With his father straddling his thighs, Hux can’t get the leverage he needs to roll them over; and weakened as he is by the injuries he’s already accumulated, Hux barely has the strength to brace the blade away from his throat. With their arms locked together, and with Brendol’s weight behind him, it’s a losing game for Hux.

But he doesn’t want to die.

Despite it all, he’s not ready to surrender his life. He still doesn’t know if he _can_ die here in the dreamscape, but every fibre of his being is telling him to fight, that this could be it if he isn’t careful.

He can’t let Ren kill him like this.

Seemingly apropos of nothing, Ren laughs. He takes one slow step after another until he’s standing beside them, his cold, dark eyes drinking in the spectacle. “That’s the beauty of it,” he says softly. “This isn’t my doing.”

Brendol, completely oblivious to Ren’s presence, releases his hold on the blade with his right hand long enough to pull back his fist and deck Hux across the face. There’s an explosion of stars across Hux’s vision, but he holds fast when Brendol resumes applying pressure with the blade. It nicks the skin in the dip between Hux’s collarbones. They both know it won’t be long now.

There’s blood in his mouth and tears in his eyes and Hux so desperately doesn’t want to die.

“This is what happens to an untrained mind when it connects unchaperoned with the Force,” Ren explains, wholly unconcerned with Hux’s struggle. “Luke should’ve destroyed every last trace of your father when he tried to help you, but instead I think he’s done us an unexpected favor…”  

Brendol winds up to hit Hux again. Hux bucks his hips right then in an attempt to throw his father off balance, but it doesn’t work. Instead, it shifts Brendol’s weight to the left, at the entirely wrong angle for Hux to gain any leverage against him. The blade sinks into him all the way to the hilt this time, directly into his glenoid, the shallow socket of his already injured shoulder.

The whole world goes black for a moment. He can feel his vocal cords straining around a scream.

“I can help you,” Ren says, his voice piercing through the haze. “But I think you already know what has to be done.”

Hux blinks and the light returns. His vision is blurred by tears, but there’s no mistaking the satisfied curl at the corner of Brendol’s lips, the echo of his blood lust from his days teaching children the art of war.

Brendol twists the blade for good measure. Hux squirms in agony.

Without consciously thinking about it, Hux reaches out with his right hand to search for a loose stone on the floor beside him. He finds something and swings his arm toward Brendol’s head. He clips the man above the eye, but Brendol is only momentarily stunned. His pulls the blade free in retaliation, raising it high above his head for the killing blow.  

Rather than try to deflect his father’s arm, Hux drops the stone and reaches out again, turning his head to guide his hand.

Once his fingers find purchase, he raises his father’s blaster and pulls the trigger.

He doesn’t have the time or energy to aim, but their close proximity is his saving grace. Brendol’s head snaps back with a splash of blood, the blast piercing through bone and brain matter before chipping off a piece of stone from the crumbling ceiling above. Hux doesn’t see the exact damage he’s dealt, but he doesn’t have the desire to anyway. Something breaks inside him as Brendol’s body falls back, still sitting astride his thighs, warm and limp in a way no apparition has any right to be.

Hux’s hand drops to his chest. His got the jitters now, these full body shakes that he can’t control. His mind is racing. He wants to close his eyes and succumb to the darkness, but something tells him that’s a bad idea; he also wants to shoot Ren, but something tells him that’s an equally bad idea.

He relinquishes his hold on the blaster and instead raises his hand to his shoulder. He knows he has to apply pressure to the wound—but then what’s the use of doing that if no one is coming for him?

Luke isn’t going to save him.

Ren stares at Brendol cooling body for a long while, evidently satisfied with the proceedings. Then he lowers himself to one knee and says, “Cathartic, isn’t it?”

Hux coughs. There’s more blood in his mouth, warm and slick at the back of his throat. More than there should be. “He’s not— _real_ ,” he chokes out. He needs to wake up—he _needs_ to wake up. “ _You’re_ not real.”

“I’m real alright,” Ren whispers, extending his hand. His fingertips brush Hux’s temple—

—and he wakes.

He opens his eyes and then squeezes them shut immediately, caught off guard by the blinding light.

There’s a hand against the side of his face, soft and cool, not clad in leather.

From far away, he hears Lt. Connix say, “He’s burning up.”

“I’m alright,” he breathes, trying to blink the blots of color from his eyes. He’s not in pain anymore beyond the dull throb in his shoulder. Just cold.

And very much alive.

Eventually, his vision clears. He sees Connix and two of her crew members kneeling over him where he’s lying flat on his back on the docking station beside the escape pods. They must have only just dragged him out of there.

“What happened?” Another voice asks.

Hux’s heart twinges in recognition.

He cranes his head to one side. Just over Connix’s shoulder he can see Vice Admiral Holdo—and beside her Leia Organa, leaning against a cane for support, face pinched with concern. She looks…older than before. Exhausted beyond belief.

“Are you real?” Hux asks quietly, stomach knotted with hope.

Despite it all, his question draws a smirk from Organa’s dark lips. “Very much so,” she assures him.

“Can you sit up?” Connix says, sliding a hand under his shoulder blades to help him upright as he tries to comply. It’s difficult with the way every muscle in his body is still tense, pulled taut from his recent adrenaline rush. His limbs are stiff, braced for the next imaginary blow. “How long have you been out?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, glancing over her shoulder again at Organa and Holdo. He has a feeling the mutiny didn’t go exactly as planned. “Since I last saw you and the Captain…I take it a lot has happened between now and then?”

“The Captain’s cooling off at the moment,” Organa grumbles in that fond, if somewhat disappointed, way of hers. The fact that she refers to Dameron as _‘Captain’_ suggests she hasn’t demoted him yet again. Shutting down the mutiny must have therefore been a cut and dry affair, one that she feels is at least marginally forgivable.

Connix clears her throat somewhat meekly, having no doubt been browbeaten in her own special way following their failure. “We should get you moving. Right now we plan to—”

“Don’t,” he interjects, stomach knotting up again. “Don’t tell me.”

Connix frowns. “But—”

“Please,” he asks, because he can still feel that unusual pressure behind his eyes and he doesn’t know if it’s from an inbound migraine or if Ren is still lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

Because Ren really was there in the dreamscape.

He just knows it.

“Fine,” Connix huffs, looking about exasperated with him now as she did during his extraction on _Starkiller_ base. “But we’re still taking you back to your cot. There’s no point leaving you alone in here.”

Behind her, Organa touches Holdo’s elbow gently and they step aside, speaking amongst themselves in soft tones as Connix and one of her crewmates helps Hux to his feet. His legs are stiff and his back aches. He feels like he’s been comatose for ages, like his body has forgotten how to function. In fact, he loses his balance momentarily and stumbles into the man on his right. The room spins.

Then he hears it.

He glances over at Organa, but her back is turned to him. He can hear her voice, soft and mellifluous. Singing.

 _‘Stop,’_ he thinks, but already the darkness is rushing up to meet him.

The universe shifts.

He remembers…people.

Rows upon rows of people. Stormtroopers. Officers. As still as statues and waiting in the brightly lit loading bay, his army perfectly reflected in the polished black floor.

He’s moving forward, eyes trained on one man—but his focus shifts to the solitary body in motion. It’s an officer stepping out of line. He raises his blaster. Light springs across the space between them.

It cuts clean through Hux.

He’s falling then. Pressure. Pain. Shock. Something peculiar slots into place in the back of his brain and then suddenly he hears, sees, feels nothing.

He is nothing.

But he’s still alive. He can feel the pull of gravity now and the hot throb of a wound not wholly healed in his shoulder joint. When he looks down at his body, he sees soft cotton medical scrubs and his arm pressed against his chest in a cloth sling. He’s on his knees, nauseated, but there are people all around him trying to help him back up. Peculiar people. Medics with blasters on their hips. Their voices sound far away and frantic over the rush of blood in his ears.

He’s with the Resistance.

His heart hammers against his ribs. He lifts his head to take in the room. They’re in some sort of maintenance hall connected to a small escape pod hanger. He doesn’t understand how he got there or how long he’s been in captivity, only that they’ve clearly classified him as a low-risk prisoner with how gently they’re trying to manhandle him back onto his feet. Far better to just drag him off to wherever they want to put him, he thinks, because he won’t bend to their whims, whatever they might be.

Eventually though he sees something that kills the fire of spite blossoming inside his chest. Leia Organa. She has her back to him, but her head is craned toward the woman beside her, a peculiar creature with lavender hair. Organa looks tired but at ease, and he can understand why. She has a General of the First Order in her possession. Being a Force user herself, she can easily pluck the thoughts from his mind—anything and everything pertaining to the deeply concealed inner workings of his organization.

The realization of what she can do—if she hasn’t already done it—almost brings him crashing back down to his knees. A cold wind blows through him, racing up his spine. He has unwittingly become an instrument of the First Order’s undoing.

Rage swiftly chases away the cold. Unlike Ren, he’s usually a master of his temper, but he’s lost already and there’s no ground left for him to gain. In fact, it ends abruptly in front of him. He’s going to take an awful plunge in just a short while, so he might as well take someone with him.

The lavender woman looks up at him suddenly—up and _into_ him almost.

The primitive part of his brain, a nucleus of neurons firing in an insidious loop of anger and desperation, moves his body without conscious thought. With his right hand, he grabs the blaster from the hip holster of the man closest to him. A cry goes out as he levels the weapon at the General.

The girl on his left springs into action. She hooks her foot behind his leg and pushes him back just as he squeezes the trigger. The blast shatters a light overhead, sparks raining down upon them as he’s tackled to the ground, the weapon wrested from his hand by its owner.

Defeat burns at the back of his throat. He tries to buck the girl off him, but she flattens herself across his chest, still trying to be mindful of his wound. “What are you doing?” she snaps, incredulous.

“Hold him,” the peculiar woman says. There’s a great shuffling as one man pins his free arm down as another sits astride his legs. The other woman kneels down beside him and wraps her cold hands around his throat, her pale blue eyes boring into him.

He can feel her thumbs digging in to the soft tissue beneath his jaw as she leans forward, pressing down with all her weight. He thrashes wildly beneath her but remains restrained.

All too quickly the world goes dark again—

Then he’s gasping for breath.

Beside him, Lieutenant Connix and Vice Admiral Holdo are having a conversation. The former sounds alarmed; the latter solemn.

“—possibly know that?”

“Because what better way to emulate his grandfather? Trust me, the man is himself again. Look.”

Hux’s head is pounding from the sudden rush of oxygenated blood to his brain. He rolls over onto his good side and trembles, fighting down the urge to vomit over the short train of Holdo’s lovely dress. It’s been so long since he last swapped places with his waking self. Nothing feels right at the moment. He’s been torn apart and haphazardly thrown together again. Not everything on the inside is in the right place anymore.

“Give him space,” Leia says, waving her people aside. She crouches down beside him and brushes a clump of sweaty hair back from his forehead, fingertips grazing over his feverish skin. Sadly, she says, “He’s still in there, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” he breathes, frightened.

Ren is here to stay, it seems.

No distance in the universe can truly separate them.

On top of being afraid, he’s admittedly bitter too. It figures Ren would go for choking as a trigger. Granted, it makes sense in the scheme of Snoke’s assassination, to pull Hux’s lucid self to the surface in the midst of pretending to kill him. But asphyxiation is neither a pleasant experience nor a terribly common one. If Ren tries to rouse his waking self when Hux is alone, who knows when he’ll be himself again.

Of course, there are more immediate consequences to the discovery that Ren is both still with him and able to control him from afar. Namely this:

Wherever Leia and her people are going, Hux can’t follow them.

And Leia knows this. He can see it in her eyes. She looks at him the same way she did when they were contemplating Dameron’s fate, the day Hux first encountered Ren in his lucid state and precipitated this whole disaster. It’s the cruel realization that she’s going to lose someone again. Someone close.

Glancing over her shoulder, Leia looks to Connix and her crewmates and says, “Get going. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Connix glances anxiously between Hux and the General.

“He’s a lightweight,” Leia continues. “And he won’t slip away again without our notice.”

“We have this under control,” Holdo assures the others, just as Connix opens her mouth to argue.

The Lieutenant glances at Hux one last time, brow furrowed with pain and regret. Then finally she and the other medics retreat into the corridor, leaving them to finish their business in peace.

Alone at last, Leia turns to Hux and says, “Let’s get you off the floor, shall we?”

Holdo steps forward to help facilitate his transition from floor to feet to escape pod, the closest thing they have to a prison cell at this end of the ship. Then she and Leia take a seat inside with him; Leia on his right, Holdo across from him. A heavy silence hangs between them.

Hux is the first to break it. “What did you see?” he asks Holdo.

Holdo laughs a little under her breath. She closes her eyes and rubs her brow, weary. “Your other self is like a storm at sea. Tumultuous and grey, stirring up the waves against a battered coast. He’s a destructive force, both natural and out of control…” Sighing, she drops her hand to her lap, folding it into the other one. Then she looks at him with her too-blue eyes and says, “When I look at you I see the summer rain in a quiet forest. It’s nurturing and peaceful, if a bit melancholy…You are perpetually falling.”

He wonders if she saw the forest of his mind, that special place only he and Luke and Leia once occupied.

Leia reaches over suddenly to squeeze his hand, the way she always did in the dreamscape. “We’re not going to kill you.”

He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t see how he has any other option here. “Sooner or later, your son is going to catch up to me,” he says. He doesn’t need to elaborate on why that isn’t a good thing.

“And sooner or later, we’re going to catch up to him,” she replies, squeezing his hand a little harder. “Someday, you’ll be free of him. I promise.”

He nods for her sake, but he knows the chances of that ever happening are slim.

He’s never going to be free.

“Whatever happens,” he says, “it’s been an honor working with you, General.”

“And you, General,” she replies softly. With what seems like great difficulty, she finally relinquishes her hold on his hand. “Until we meet again.”

Stiffly, she rises to her feet and steps out of the escape pod. Holdo rises with her but lingers a moment in the pod, staring down at Hux. “When a half-way decent opportunity presents itself, I’m going to jettison you from the ship,” she says.

“I don’t know if any such opportunity will ever present itself, given our circumstances.”

“Just know that I’m going to do everything in my power to help you.” She holds her hand out to him. When he offers his in return, she gives it an affectionate squeeze instead of shaking it. It somehow feels better this way. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” he murmurs, sad to see her go.

He’s never going to see either of them again, he thinks.

Once Holdo exits the pod, she flips the switch on the panel on the outside wall. The door slides shut with a pneumatic hiss, the air cycler and thermo-regulator immediately kicking into action as he’s sealed inside.

Both women stare at him in silence for a moment through the pod’s inner window before retreating from the hanger. He watches them go with a tightness in his throat, internally wishing the very best for them in the trials still ahead.

Then he shuffles toward the outer transparisteel window to watch the stars fly by in a haze.

~***~

He doesn’t know how long he spends alone in the shuttle.

Shortly after Holdo and Leia leave, the pressure behind his eyes dissipates. He doesn’t know if that means Ren is consciously occupied with something else, but he’s hoping it does. It means he doesn’t have to put up a fight against his grief anymore. He finally lets the emotion wash over him, pulling a soft sob from his lips as he closes his eyes and leans forward, head hanging heavy and low, elbows braced against his knees for support. He can’t even revisit his sanctuary now for fear of encountering Ren again. The stupid boy has ruined everything for him. _Everything_.

He doesn’t think he’s been at a lower point in his life before. All the setbacks he’s suffered thus far somehow pale in comparison.

Whatever Organa is planning, Hux knows his future is dim. She won’t kill Ren outright or pursue any action that would indirectly sign his death warrant, both because she is his mother and because her moral standards far exceed her son’s. Therefore, so long as Ren can find a way to continue surviving Snoke, he’ll always be there in the universe. Until the hour of his death, Hux will be nothing more than his instrument.

Sitting alone in an escape pod, the various life support systems humming softly in the background, Hux’s mind begins to dip into a blank state. He’s reached a point where he can no longer reflect on his misfortunates or speculate on what horrors await him. This is his last free moment and he needs every second of it just to remember how to breathe.

This free moment stretches on for a small eternity.

It’s finally shattered as his escape pod disengages from the _Raddus_.

The speaker above his head crackles to life briefly as someone from the bridge tries to connect with him. The red light below it winks once before going dead again and remains inactive even after he tries to return the call. All that he knows is that his pod is floating gently toward the First Order’s fleet now, its thrusters operating at the absolute minimum to simply drive him away from the ship and no further.

Alarmed, Hux undoes his lap belt and crouches down to open the control panel under the front window, hoping to pull up the predicated route for his pod and plug in his own desired coordinates. Unfortunately, the small screen is blank. In fact, every light on the panel is dark. It’s not receiving any power.

It would appear Dameron inadvertently ruined more than just the door mechanism and speakers.

With his fate no longer in his hands, Hux glances behind him through the opposite window at the _Raddus_ as he slowly drifts away. He wonders why he was ejected. Perhaps their fuel is now depleted. The FO could be preparing to fire.

And it is, he realizes somewhat belatedly. Hux’s escape pod is angled in such a way that he can’t see what they’re targeting, but their cannons are directed to the far left of the _Raddus’_ s present course. It’s possible backup has finally arrived for the Resistance, but that doesn’t feel quite right. None of the Star-Destroyers have mobilized their TIE-fighter yet. Whatever is approaching—or whatever they themselves are approaching—poses no real threat to them.

Hux tries to speculate on what this could mean when he’s suddenly blinded by a bright white light. It’s accompanied by a shockwave that knocks his shuttle askew, slamming him bodily into the hull. Semi-dazed, he barely registers the next hit to the opposite side of his pod, flinging him back the other way.

He cracks his head against a loose panel and slips back into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A quick warning for the next chapter: Ren.  
> 
> Also, I’m going to be away on vacation for pretty much the entire second half of June, so I’ll try extra hard to get the next chapter out before then. Looking at my notes though, it's going to be a potentially long chapter, so I’m going to shy away from making any solid promises.
> 
>  _Also_ —if you haven’t already, you should totally sign up for [The Kylux Big Bang](http://www.kyluxbigbang.tumblr.com/rules). You have until June 3rd to do so. All writers and artists are welcome! You can even participate in the Mini Bang if you would rather write something in the 5-15K range.


	14. Nadir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I truly apologize for the long wait. This chapter was turning out to be insanely long, so I pretty much cut out the second half.
> 
> Anyway, I had to do a bit of research to figure out how large the First Order is. Apparently, even though Holdo did quite a bit of damage with her little maneuver in TLJ, the FO has thousands of ships in its fleet. I guess that explains why nobody jumped at the chance to swoop in and help the Resistance during the Battle of Crait. Even with the Supremacy and so many Star-Destroyers out of commission, any reinforcements the FO called in would’ve annihilated Leia’s allies as soon as they exited hyperspace. 
> 
> Additionally, I forgot to mention last chapter that special credit goes to my wife for her valuable input on what it feels like to be stabbed. She is a wealth of knowledge and love, that girl. Thank you for lending me your agony, honey.
> 
> Update: NOT FORGOTTEN OR ON HIATUS! I promise! I got caught up with the kylux big bang. By the end of this week, I will resume writing this fic. I apologize for the wait.

“ _I've had recurring nightmares that I was loved for who I am_

_and missed the opportunity_

_to be a better man”_

— Muse

~***~

Again, he sees Lt. Valson’s face washed in red, hears the shrill cry of the emergency alarm overhead, and remembers the explosion of pain behind his eyes.

Birth is a violent ordeal, both organic and non-organic.

His was no different.

He sees Amilyn Holdo then, her lilac hair and robes wet with dew. She’s standing in a forest thick with morning mist. His forest, he thinks. Sunbeams dance through the foliage as a dwarf star rises on the horizon far behind her. She doesn’t say anything, but the message she conveys with her sad eyes feels very much like a soft _‘goodbye_ ’.

Her sadness clings to him as he opens his own eyes. He feels weightless. He _is_ weightless. The artificial gravity is no longer working in the escape pod. It’s designed to peter out whenever power needs to be rerouted elsewhere in an emergency, notably the air cycler still wheezing above his head. Unfortunately, the shuttle is cold and cooling further. Either the thermostat is broken or the thermo-regulator is no longer capable of producing heat. Whatever the case may be, he likely has a few hours left before he freezes to death.

His back and neck are stiff; his hands and feet feel numb. It’s with great difficultly that he kicks off one side of the escape pod and careens toward the door, digging his thumb under the emergency control panel above it to see if he can somehow remedy the situation. A soft blue light flickers to life above as he does, a warning signal that there is electrical damage and that breaking the air tight seal around the panel would be an epic mistake. No further explanation is necessary. A spark in such a highly oxygenated space would warm him up in entirely the wrong way.

There is nothing he can do.

He finds it ironic that it looks like hypothermia is what’s finally going to do him in. It’s not the worst way to go, given his history, but it’s not the quickest either. Intense muscle spasms, hallucinations, and an ever present urge to _sleep_ , followed ultimately by the sensation of burning alive once nerve damage reaches its peak and the curious desire to burrow into the smallest space available…sounds like quite the ride. He might be tempted to crawl back into the dreamscape before too long after all.

Drifting now, he stares out the back window of the escape pod and realizes he can no longer see the _Raddus_. When he was ejected from the ship, he was sent spiraling toward the First Order’s fleet, and that’s really all he sees now, Star Destroyers hovering in space, pieces of them chipped away by some incredible force. In fact, past the floating debris of a nearby ship, he thinks he can spot the _Supremacy_ , almost completely bisected along the shoulder of it’s left wing.

Something devastating just took place.

It explains why his pod was knocked about like a marble on a Taro board. Some extreme force battered him into the side of one of the First Order’s ships. He should perhaps be grateful the hull wasn’t breached in the collision, otherwise he wouldn’t have lasted more than sixty seconds.

Watching the debris float by outside, he comes to realize something else. His pod is, in fact, still in motion. Slowly, but surely, it’s drifting forward. And gaining speed.

He’s caught in someone’s tractor beam.

He knew he’d be spotted sooner or later, but he was hoping they wouldn’t care who was in his escape pod and perhaps leave him to his fate. After all, the pod clearly came from the _Raddus_ , and if they’d scanned him already they’d know he was operating without heat. Better to leave the rebel scum to rot in space, and all that imperial tripe.

But whoever’s got a hold on him is patiently pulling him into the loading bay of a Star Destroyer. He doesn’t know whose ship this is, but it’s one of the few that remained intact following whatever miraculous blow the Resistance just dealt the FO. With an internal shudder, Hux kicks off the door and dives toward the nearest seat, struggling with his one good arm to park himself properly on the bench and manhandle the belt around his waist. It’s a laborious ordeal with how stiff and uncooperative his limbs are, a sure sign he’s toeing the line into moderate hypothermia, but he somehow manages to get himself settled before he enters the bay and gravity kicks in again. Thankfully, the pod doesn’t settle upside down. Only slightly askew.

As soon as the pod hits the floor, a shadow passes over the back window. A stormtrooper is standing there, wiping away the condensation on the outside of the transparisteel panel to get a look inside. Hux glances at them in return briefly before leaning his head back against the hull and closing his eyes. He’s tired. He knows he shouldn’t succumb to this uncharacteristic drowsiness but freezing to death would certainly be a better alternative to whatever is waiting for him on the other side of that door. Maybe nature will win out against the good old FO this time.

But the First Order has extensive training with hypothermia, given that they operate daily in the cold and unforgiving vacuum of space. He can hear them removing panels on the outside of the ship, trying to gain access to the thermo-regulator. And they succeed. Before too long, he can hear a second motor kicking in. They’ll raise the temperature gradually to prevent him from falling victim to shock or cardiac arrhythmia, and then they’ll open the door. From then on out, who knows what will happen.

His consciousness drifts sometime between now and then. He closes his eyes one moment and then opens them again to find a strange pins and needles sensation in his hands and feet. The hair on the back of his head is also tacky with blood, no doubt from when he concussed himself against the hull, something his cold-addled brain missed during his initial self-analysis. Thankfully, this seems to be the extent of his new injuries. His shoulder doesn’t hurt much beyond the norm, his arm still comfortably settled in its sling. A small wonder that.

It’s warmer in the pod now, but that isn’t what roused him. It’s the sound of the door mechanism groaning as it’s forced open. Quite suddenly, it gives, followed by a rush of noise and people in his small space, medics hovering over him and telling him not to move, assuring him everything’s under control. One of them undoes his belt buckle as someone else rolls up his right sleeve, syringe in hand. It’s loaded with what he imagines to be Thermo-Rite, an agent that will sedate him and prevent cardiac arrest while they continue to warm him up in a bacta tank.

The thought of being unconscious and in their care again does something to him. His brain is still sluggish, so his frontal lobe is asleep at the wheel as he plants his foot against the chest of the medic with the syringe and pushes the man away. There’s a terrible ringing in his ear as another medic tries to pin him to his seat, urging him not to move, telling him everything is going to be alright.

Nothing is going to be alright.

Least of all with that pressure building behind his eyes and that familiar voice cooing inside his head—Leia’s voice, singing to her son in the garden as they wait for Luke. Hux knows it’s really Ren behind the facade. He’s somewhere nearby.

He feels the sting of a needle just as the shift begins.

Then nothing.

~***~

The droid completes its scan with a trilling chirp before uploading its diagnostic report into his medical file. Then it wheels back to its docking station by the door, giving the doctor, Captain Hanse, space to step forward and snip the in-patient tag off the General’s left wrist.

Three hours in a bacta tank and he’s seemingly ready for duty again.

Physically, at least. The crease in Hanse’s brow echoes his own disconcert. Between the head trauma and the hypothermia, a little retrograde amnesia is to be expected. The vivid, too bright memory of Leia Organa on the Resistance ship is therefore…peculiar. Hanse has already screened him for psychoactive drugs but came up with nothing. From that, they can only speculate that either the Resistance has widened the scope of biological and chemical agents they’re willing to utilize in warfare or Hux has been subjected to another wholly unnatural form of mental manipulation.

Unfortunately, the thought of Leia Organa digging around inside his head is only _one_ of his many current woes. Lieutenant Sakara left a short while ago, having waited patiently in the Med Bay for Hux to complete his treatment before delivering a breakdown of the last 72 hours. All things said, Hux has lost so much more than just his memories. He lost _Starkiller_ before it could fire off it’s first shot; the Hosnian System and the Republic remain intact. What’s more, in an unprecedented show of admittedly brilliant military maneuvering, the Resistance flagship obliterated eight Star-Destroyers and critically damaged half a dozen more, the _Supremacy_ included. Just above Crait’s atmosphere, the thirty or so other Star Destroyers that were close enough to answer the fleet’s collective distress call were now scrambling to accommodate survivors and disassemble the husks of the fallen before scavengers got wind of the massacre. More were on their way, an audience gradually amassing to behold both the destruction left in the wake of Snoke’s passing and the violent birth of a new era in the First Order.

His mind is still reeling over that last fact. Snoke is dead. Snoke is dead, and, in Hux’s absence, _Kylo Ren_ has seized the title of Supreme Leader. Hux could tell it was far too late to call the wisdom of _that_ move into question after Lt. Sakara’s tense briefing. Once Ren assumed power, he made sure no one could muster the courage to question his claim to the throne. His chains had been broken.

He answers to no one now.

Hux feels cold just thinking about it. He has no idea what that means for the First Order. Or himself. At least Ren hasn’t made any show of might against him yet. That could be because he assumes Hux’s abduction weakened his image in their organization, which he has no doubt it has. Then again, he somehow came out of the _Raddus’s_ unexpected maneuver alive and that display of endurance is the kind of thing that will earn him favors among his comrades in other ways. If he can continue to demonstrate a certain level of durability in the coming cycles, he’ll be less of a target for some eager upstart.

Assuming, of course, Ren doesn’t kill him in the next few hours.

Hux still doesn’t know where he stands with the other man. His memories of what came before the incident on _Starkiller_ are fuzzy at best. Ren was unhinged, that much he remembers. He was trying to pursue a sexual relationship with Hux, although who knows to what end. It could’ve been just a power move, an opportunity to break Hux down into his most primal elements for a bit of sport. Ren often liked to play like that, pushing a person’s buttons until he could find their upper limit. Then he offered them a brief reprieve before pushing a little harder. Hard enough that they broke.

It’s a small consolation that Ren has apparently composed himself well enough to organize the current salvaging operation of their destroyed ships and the analysis of the mineral mines on Crait. Sakara informed him that it would be complete in under an hour. From what they could tell, there was only one feasible way into and out of the Resistance outpost and Ren was eager to mount an attack. The last of the Resistance was holed up in there. If they acted now, they could wipe them out for good.

Before Sakara left, Hux suggested they consider utilizing a siege cannon, assuming the _Finalizer_ or another Resurgent-class Star Destroyer was nearby and able to aid in a ground attack. Sakara assured him that was entirely possible, although he would have to run that by the Supreme Leader first, who just so happened to _also_ be aboard the _Equalizer_ and patiently awaiting Hux's convalescence for a private briefing…

Hux tries not to feel unnerved by that bit of news. It’s harder to squash that sense of unease though when a droid stops by to deposit a plain pair of black trousers, slip-on shoes, and a long sleeved shirt. While it’s true that it would take some time for a droid to tailor a spare uniform to the precise measurements on his file, he finds no solace in the droid’s assurance that one would likely be delivered to him immediately after the meeting. He feels as though there’s a hidden message in that, having to wait so long to dress the part of General again.

Either the meeting will end with a demotion or he won’t be lively enough to be needing a uniform any more.

This wouldn’t be Hux’s first brush with death, but his mind is locked on a horrifying reel of all the possible ways Ren can deliver him unto pain and dissolution in the next little while. Beyond the slight stiffness in his left shoulder, Hux feels uncharacteristically numb as he slips out of his medical scrubs and into the clothes provided for him. Hanse is smart enough to keep his back turned and his head down, working on his report as Hux tries to make himself presentable. This feels too…unreal. It’s like he’s living someone else’s life at the moment. There’s no way it could all go so wrong in a so little time.

This sense of surreality hangs over his head as he exits the Medbay and falls into line behind the two-trooper escort that lead him to the rooms Ren appropriated for his stay on the _Equalizer_. It’s a small consolation that his officers remember to salute him as he passes. Stripes or no stripes, in this moment he is still a General of the First Order. Whatever comes next is…is nothing. Yet.

Too soon, Hux is delivered to his unbecoming. The doors to Ren’s temporary quarters slide open before he can wave his hand in front of the wall comm. They reveal a large office brightly lit by Crait’s solitary sun through the far viewport. There is an empty desk to the left and a small lounge area to the right. Beyond that are two doors, one which likely leads to a refresher and the other a bedroom.

Ren is nowhere in sight.

Hux proceeds in alone. The doors slide shut behind him, cutting off all sound beyond the miserable thud of his heart in his throat. He closes his eyes briefly, trying to regain a sense of calm, and then strolls across the office to the transparisteel wall, too high strung to sit still and wait.

Down and to the right, he can see Crait; to his left, the ruin of their fleet. The stars are dotted with shuttles ferrying people and supplies to the armada of intact Star-Destroyers. In the distance he spots another ship exiting hyperspace, here just in time to join the funeral.

In the distance, he can also discern the silhouette of the _Supremacy_. His heart aches at the sight of it. The First Order was much more than an organization, it was a people. They didn’t have a ground Capital. The _Supremacy_ was their substitute in that regard. It could be repaired, of course, but the internal scars from their most recent failure could not. From this point forward, no one who commands the _Supremacy_ will be able to shake the bitter sting of knowing such a magnificent beast was once brought so low by the hand of the Resistance.

In his heartsickness, he almost forgets his fear. It comes flooding back into his system when what he assumes is the bedroom door slides open and Ren steps out into the lounge. His mask—his _crutch_ is gone now. Hux doesn’t quite recognize the man standing before him.

Ren’s face is badly scarred in a way he assumes has probably shaken up the other man’s pride, and yet he looks utterly apathetic, not a word Hux would normally associate with his once co-commander. Ren had always been moved by his emotions, most notably his anger. It made him predictable. To a degree.

Ren is also wearing a cape now, the evident extent to which he’s willing to modify his uniform to reflect his change in status. He adjusts how it sits on his shoulders now and says by way of greeting, “General.”

Hux’s tongue is a dead weight in his mouth, an unusual response in a situation such as this. Normally, he could spin silver with his tongue when he put his mind to it. He wouldn’t have risen to power as quickly as he did if he hadn’t been such a talented orator, but words fail him now. He doesn’t know where to begin.

He supposes he’ll just have to start with the basics.

After what feels like a small eternity, he acknowledges Ren in return with a slight nod of the head and a solemn, “Supreme Leader.”

He imagines he sees a brief upward crook at the corner of Ren’s lips, a sliver of satisfaction surfacing before his former equal composes himself again. Ren gestures to the lounge. “Sit.”

Not so much a request as an order, that. For a moment, Hux’s legs lock at the knees, his brain stalled by his intuitive urge to deny the change in power dynamics between them. And fear. Plenty of fear. Then suddenly his limbs loosen up of their own accord and he walks the short distance to the nearest settee.

Ren’s eyes track Hux until he’s taken his seat. Then Ren turns his head toward the viewport, focusing his gaze on the pale specter of Crait. After a long and uncomfortable silence, he says, “I’ve been told you were already briefed on what happened here.”

“I have,” he says, voice weaker than he would prefer. He’s drained and confused, not the sort of front he would like to present to his old rival. “I’ve also been apprised of your general plans for the remaining Resistance fighters.”

“The _Desolation_ is en route and will supply a siege cannon for the ground attack,” Ren replies. Hux wonders if he came to the conclusion that such a weapon would be needed for this attack on his own or if he’s going by Hux’s earlier assessment via Lt. Sakara. Hux doesn’t ask. “By now, the Resistance should realize they’re pinned. They don’t have enough people to defend their base. We destroyed several of their shuttles before they could reach the surface of the planet.”

As he says this, Ren’s eyes remains locked on Crait. Hux wonders if the other man is thinking of his mother bolted up in her sepulchral fortress down there, waiting the hour of her execution. She has nowhere left run. He must either kill her in the attack or take her prisoner until she can be put to death before a more substantial audience. Whatever the case may be, Ren will soon be responsible for killing both his creators.

Hux never knew his birth mother, but he remembers well the sense of freedom that came with cutting the last thin fibre of his father’s miserable life. It felt like finally carving out the gangrenous bits of his spirit, like cutting out an infection in his mind. The healing process was quick and easy for him from that point forward. He wonders if Ren felt much the same way when he slayed Han Solo.

Hux shifts in his seat. Leia Organa isn’t the only person awaiting her execution. Hux doesn’t want to beat around the bush anymore, so he swallows the bit of saliva at the back of his throat and says, “What are your orders, sir?”

The silence that follows his question is long. Too long, as if Ren doesn’t have an answer for him. Doesn’t have any orders for him.

Doesn’t have Hux figured into the equation for the future of the First Order at all, in fact.

Dread settles like a stone in his stomach. Hux doesn’t dare move. Ren could easily kill him between one second and the next. Hux can almost imagine the immense pressure settling in his chest as Ren crushes his heart like a ripe fruit or around his throat as he strangles the last breath from between his lips. Ren could make his death quick or slow, whatever fits his fancy. Given their track record, Ren would probably prefer the latter.

Without turning away from viewport, Ren finally says “In the report Captain Hanse submitted, you’ve been diagnosed with retrograde amnesia. It extends back to the day you were shot…Do you remember that? Getting shot?”

He does, even though it’s probably the one event he doesn’t care much to remember. “I do…You deflected the blast.” Which was a curious reaction on Ren’s part, to be honest. If ever there was an opportunity to do away with his rival once and for all, that would’ve been it. Hux doesn’t know why he let it slip.

“Does that concern you?” Ren asks. Then to clarify, he says, “The amnesia?”

It does.

Hux’s tongue feels heavy again. He has the urge to swallow, to get it moving, but with his nerves clawing up the back of his throat he doesn’t trust himself not to choke. With great difficulty, he says, “I remember seeing General Organa when I was on the _Raddus_. I don’t know if she…”

Ren’s dark eyes glide back to Hux from the viewport. His face betrays nothing, but Hux can taste it in the air, the mephitis of Ren’s hubris. Hux has never been beholden to him like this before. He’s never had to ask for his help with matters of the mind and he’s frightened of what Ren might find. While Leia Organa never prescribed to the same practices as her brother, it’s still well within her abilities to manipulate his brain, to take information or plant it, to perhaps induce a trigger for treasonable actions…

The likelihood of this meeting ending with his extermination seems to more and more likely.

“Depending on the extent of the damage, I can shine a little light on the darkness,” Ren offers quietly. He finally steps away from the viewport, making his way through the lounge to the narrow space between Hux and the coffee table. Then he sits back on the table, their knees almost touching, dark eyes still drinking him in. “Lean back and try to relax, Armitage. All you have to do is let me in.”

Hux is far too stiff to relax, but he doesn’t try to fight the sudden pressure at the back of his eyes and subsequent pull into darkness. The muscles in his neck go lax as he sinks into the cool stream of semi-consciousness, his head lolling back against the lip of the settee, no longer cognisant of the here and now…

What follows next is an explosion of sights and sounds strung together out of place and out of time, snippets of a much longer narrative he’s no longer entirely privy to.

He sees a woman with wild hair above him, her hands pressing down into his throat, closing up his airway. She is staring at him with her too-blue eyes, searching him for something. What it is she’s searching for, he can only imagine—

He sees Ren on the ground, wounded, so close to death and yet not far enough gone to surrender to its sweet pull. In the dying light, blood stains the snow around him black. The fact that he has been felled chills Hux to the core. He has the uncharacteristic urge to just turn and run—

He sees one of his Captains stepping out of line, a manifested kink in the careful weave of their lives as he raises his blaster and tries to murder his commanding officer. Hux can feel the shot burning through him. Confusion and pain blur his senses together before he is sucked into a dark gaping abyss. He is pulled under the cold wave of shock, subjected to a sleep that feels almost eternal—

He sees ice fields splintering, a sound like gunshots ringing out in the cold crisp air as an already dying planet spews fire into an ever-darkening sky. All around him is chaos, the death knell of his creation ringing in his ears. But he feels nothing. Satisfaction, perhaps, though why he doesn’t understand. He must be stunned by the calamity. There is no other explanation for the lack of shame or fear or anger. _Starkiller_ was his greatest achievement. It didn’t even last long enough to fulfill its initial purpose—

Again, he sees— _feels_ Ren, over him this time, _inside_ him, their bodies in motion, the delicious sting of pleasure and pain settling low in his pelvis and high in his brain, the experience better than the many other times he traded sex for power or influence in the past. There is also an unusual warmth in his chest, a yearning for understanding and closeness. He _wants_ Ren, wants this connection, because he… _sees_ something. He doesn’t know how to describe it. It’s without substance, a swelling sensation in his heart that he is incapable of deciphering. Passion, perhaps? He can’t say, only that it aches in a way that both frightens him and entices him for more…

 _Oh_ , Hux thinks as he slowly returns to himself. There’s a weight to his eyelids that makes it almost impossible to pry them open again, but he drags himself boldly upright through the haze. He sees Ren still sitting there, watching him. The man hasn’t moved a muscle and yet he feels infinitely closer than he was only moments ago.

 _Oh_ , he thinks again, because he realizes this might be a test, a chance to acknowledge or ignore what’s transpired between them the last few cycles. But he’s always been good at tests. Likes them, in fact. How else does he get to demonstrate how terribly clever he is outside of warfare?

All the same, Ren is a walking landmine. A capricious boy. Yesterday’s romance could easily become tomorrow’s regret. After all, the religion Ren and his old master prescribed to lauded lust and ridiculed love. They have no use for love.

But then…Ren is no longer Snoke’s plaything. He gets to write the rules now. He can entertain whatever emotions he fancies.

But was it anything even remotely close to _love_ that transpired between them? Hux is hesitant to acknowledge it as such. He’s never loved anything or anyone. He knows too little of it to recognize its face.

“No manipulations,” Ren says softly, his final assessment of Hux’s mental state. Apparently, General Organa did nothing untowardly to his mind when he was in her care. How odd. “Do you see?”

He feels another pull now, the kind that is both easier and harder to navigate. It feels as though he is in strange but familiar waters, staring down into the deep dark depths, waiting for something beyond human imagination to surface. “I see,” he replies, moving his left leg just a inch, his knee grazing Ren’s. There is a peculiar tightness in his chest, his dread bleeding away into a different kind of warmth. “I see you.”

Ren’s eyes dart to his mouth. This reaction suggests something dangerous. For both of them.

Still lax against the couch, Hux extends a hand toward Ren, an open invitation to determine where this endeavour takes them this time.

And Ren takes it. He rises from his perch against the coffee table and sits down beside Hux on the settee. Very casually, he gently grabs Hux’s chin with one gloved hand and leans in to kiss him.

The warmth continues to spread inside him. But it’s not love, thank goodness; he doesn’t want anything to do with love. He recognizes this as the sexual desire that it is, which is likewise complicated but easier to manage with hormonal blockers. Whatever Ren is offering, he’ll gladly take it. _This_ , after all, is the simplest battlefield to marshal.

Ren isn’t pushy, which is a surprise. He is gentle, coaxing an equally slow and languorous response from Hux. It almost seems like a hesitation except for how smoothly Ren drops his hand from Hux’s chin to his hip, his thumb grazing the bone just under the cut of Hux’s shirt, leather cold against his skin. His intentions are clear, but he’s waiting. For permission, perhaps, or guidance.

Somehow, that simple gestures pushes Hux over the line of apprehension and into a realm of quasi excitation. He is wholly unprepared for this, but he’s compelled to push forward.

Nothing of what he was told in last hour suggested that this is what would transpire once he walked through the door—of course, this could be a trick of some sort, but Hux has already been brought to his lowest point, both mentally and physically situated now in the right place for a killing blow. Ren should be prodding at his insecurities, not stoking up the fire. Even if he is sexually frustrated. There’s nothing more Ren needs to do to subdue him, to cut away his long-standing competition…

Unconsciously, Hux has curled a hand around the back of Ren’s head, soft locks tangled between his fingers, pulling the other man closer. He feels stupidly desperate in a disconnected sort of way; his body recognizes his physiological response, but his mind is still slow on the up-take. He’s missing some key memory here, some kind of context.

He feels like he’s been crammed into someone else’s skin.

Ren chooses then to pull back an inch, despite Hux’s tight grip on his hair. His breath is hot against Hux’s lips. If he senses Hux’s confusion, he doesn’t comment on it, nor his desperation, this unusual urge to cling to such a viper. Instead, Ren quietly says, “Is this enough for you?”

It is, but Hux has never run from a battle and he’s not about to start now. He’s sees all his work through to the bitter end, even if he isn’t sure what he’ll find at the other end of the tunnel. “Is it ever?” he asks in return.

The soft hitch in Ren’s breath could be a laugh. It’s certainly something of substance, because the other man pulls farther away, rising to his feet. Slowly then, he turns, moving soundlessly across the lounge floor and into the adjacent room.

Hux closes his eyes for a moment, head spinning. He’s at a loss for all that’s happened these past few cycles—for what’s _still_ happening. There’s the telltale strain of an oncoming headache at the base the of his neck, creeping up the back of his skull. He’s so exhausted.

Regardless, he pushes himself up off the settee and cautiously follows after Ren, pausing in the threshold between the two rooms.

Ren is standing between a small desk and the closet, hanging his cape up on a hook. He’s already removed his gloves and tossed them onto the desk. As soon as he turns to face Hux again, Hux says, “What did you think of her?”

Ren tilts his head back minutely, the subtlest sign of confusion before he catches on to Hux’s line of questioning. “The scavenger girl? …What have you already been told of her?”

Hux takes a step further into the room. He doesn’t know why he’s pursing this kind of information now of all times. He simply feels as though he’s still missing something here, something crucial.

“I was told she’s a Force user,” he replies. “That she single-handedly slayed Snoke and the Praetorian Guard” …despite the fact that Ren was there, but Hux is wise enough not to voice that part. Even if Ren played a role in Snoke’s assassination, the fact remains that no one can question his authority. Additionally, _even_ _if_ Ren helped her, the girl was still something of a force to reckon with. She very well could’ve succeeded on her own. “For one so powerful, I find it odd she’s never made any attempt to fight back against the First Order in the past.”

“She’s only existed as a Force user in the last little while,” Ren sighs, as though this is a complicated issue that he has no real desire to explain. In fact, Hux is about to move the conversation elsewhere when Ren suddenly continues on his own. “The Force exists in equilibrium. I know you, like many, don’t care much for its philosophies, but it’s true that both a Light and a Dark side exist and that one can never truly overcome the other. When Luke Skywalker went into hiding, he turned his back on the Force. He completely cut himself off from it, I think, and so the Force needed another outlet for the Light. Hence the girl.”

It was a simple enough explanation, but it immediately begged another question, one Hux didn’t need to ask because there was already a knowing crook at the corner of Ren’s lips, the gleam of victory in his eyes as he slowly approaches Hux. “The Force is like water flowing down a mountain. It has many streams. If you cut one off, it either finds another route or widens a current path.” He stops before Hux. Hux doesn’t dare move. “The girl thought she could destroy both Snoke and myself in our recent encounter, but in Snoke’s sudden absence my influence over the Force only grew. That is why I’m still alive.”

That is why Ren is now the most powerful man in the universe.

What a terrifying thought…

Slowly, Ren lifts a hand to Hux’s waist, settling on his hip. Once again, his thumb dips under the hem of Hux’s shirt, Ren’s skin warm against his own, extending his invitation once again.

It serves them both well that Hux always has been and always will be hungry for power.

As Ren’s hand slides further up to settle against his ribs, Hux grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head. Ren’s other hand then curls around the back of his neck and tugs him closer, kissing him as Ren takes a steady step backward, leading Hux to the bed. Hux slips out of his shoes as he goes, the floor cold against his bare feet. He ignores the chill it sends up his calves as he fiddles with the buckle of Ren’s belt, tossing it back to join his shirt on the ground. They’re both aware that the amount of time they have here is limited. Soon enough, they will journey down to Crait to wipe the last trace of the Resistance from the known universe.

Thinking of the Resistance pinned as they are now, an hour or so from extinction, gives him a small thrill. They stole _Starkiller_ from him.

In a short, sweet while they’ll pay.

He kisses Ren with a little more vigor now. Ren has his dark moments, but Hux is a vicious creature in his own right. In fact, he’s simply a more civilized war machine. The promise of violence and victory puts the red in his blood in a way he thinks his companion can appreciate.

And Ren does. His legs bump into the bedframe and then suddenly he’s pulling Hux down, twisting into the fall so that he looms over Hux, mouth red and swollen, pupils blown wide, dishevelled hair framing his pale face. He’s propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand snaking down between them to palm Hux through the soft fabric of his trousers. It’s the only article of clothing left on him, the last barrier. “We’re not so different,” Ren says, voice pitched low with arousal. “Do you see?”

He does.

They’re different but still the same.

Ren doesn’t wait for him to respond. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips as he ducks his head to kiss Hux again, drawing his hand now over Hux’s hip and under his lower back. Tangled together as they are now, Ren maneuvers them farther up the bed, toward the pillows. Hux lies his head back against one as Ren finally pulls away, leaning over to rummage through the top drawer of bedside table for lubricant. Hux is grateful for his foresight. He occasionally traded sex with men who were sometimes far too eager to remember the basics.

Hux’s fingers find their way into the long line of eye-and-hook latches on the front of Ren’s pleated tunic, thumbing them open. Ren also has a leg up on Hux’s previous partners when it comes to his physical physique. He is solid and toned in a way that makes Hux suddenly body shy, reminding him of his too-thin figure and soft edges. He feels inadequate staring down at Ren’s well defined abs. In fact, they gives him pause, wondering what, if anything, about himself Ren could possibly find sexually appealing. He imagines it must simply feel good to finally fuck a rival, but according to his hazy memories, he’s already let Ren do that. That small victory is already under his proverbial belt.

Admittedly, Hux also doesn’t remember why he felt it was safe to capitulate so soon back then. He also doesn’t know why he’s succumbing to the man in this position; he hardly minds being on the receiving end, seeing as nothing makes a man feel like they owe you something quite like allowing them to penetrate you, but he’s never truly felt comfortable on his back. He usually straddles his partner. It reminds them both that he’s really the one in control.

He’s not about to push his luck with Ren though, who drops a small bottle on the bed beside them and quickly shrugs off both his tunic and the sleeved-shirt underneath. Ren then leans up just long enough to tug Hux’s trousers off before kneeling back down in the inviting space between his legs. Hux can tell by the faint line along his brow that he’s beginning to get a little desperate. It reminds Hux suddenly of the first time Ren let his desires slip, when Hux came to confront him about his treatment of their officers and wound up pinned against the wall. Ren looked frantic then, as though he needed something more from this encounter beyond sexual satisfaction, even if he wouldn’t say what exactly that something was.

Hux doesn’t know what to make of this. He lies there quietly as Ren grabs the bottle and pours a generous amount of slick along the fingers. Familiar with how this part goes, Hux leans his head back against the pillow and tries to relax. He doesn’t flinch at the first finger. Or the second. As infrequently as he’s done this in the past few years, there are some reactions that blessedly remain unlearned.

As Ren works, he wraps his free hand around Hux and begins stroking him with an appreciable amount of care. Hux almost allows his mind to drift, but then he glances down at those too-dark eyes staring back up at him and that peculiar warmth returns, an unspeakable sensation coiling inside his chest, sending a pleasant a shiver down his spine.

“Too much?” Ren asks as he crooks his fingers, stroking them hard against Hux’s prostate, a suitable distraction before he tries to slip in a third.    

“No,” Hux breathes, hands fisted in the sheets on either side of him. He’s beginning to lose track of time; they need to hurry. “Get on with it.”

Ren doesn’t have to be told twice. He pulls his fingers free and fumbles open the front of his trousers. He slicks himself up and leans forward. Hux shifts his legs to accommodate him, knees bent, pressing into Ren’s flanks. Hux allows him to hear the soft noises he makes as Ren pushes in. It hurts, but it always does. Thankfully, Ren moves slow in comparison to past partners. Hux can take it.

He slides his hands up Ren’s ribs and rests them on his upper back, blunt nails digging in as Ren finally bottoms out. Tense as he is, Hux only just now realizes how weak the muscles in his left arm feel. He knows his shoulder was damaged, that he will likely need physiotherapy to continue loosening up and strengthening his arm, but the unevenness of his body still throws him off. Once again, the lost time between now and his near-death experience on _Starkiller_ base bothers him. Incites him, in fact. He feels cheated.

Ren’s lips graze the side of Hux’s neck as he lifts his mouth to his ear and says, “You’re angry.”

“Not with you,” he clarifies, trying to rein in his emotions.

“I know,” Ren huffs out in amusement. “Be angry. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

It figures Ren would say something to that effect. Anger is the seat of his power, after all. His passion of choice for almost every occasion.

Hux tries not to dwell too much on that as Ren begins to move, focusing instead on the sensation of Ren above and inside him. Sex is simple. Clears the mind. He can afford to think of nothing as Ren rocks his hips forward in small, sharp snaps that hurt at first until he gets the right angle. Then he grazes Hux’s prostate, triggering a weighty pull at the base of his spine that makes him feel even more high-strung and weak.

He digs his nails in deeper, thighs pressed hard against Ren’s ribs. Ren kisses the side of his neck and snakes a hand down between them. He takes Hux in hand again, squeezing gently in an even pace with his hips. Hux jerks up against him, trembling.

“Why were we ever enemies?” Ren whispers, voice tight and hoarse. He moves his mouth to cut of Hux’s jaw, then further up to the corner of his lips.

There are plenty of reasons why they were enemies, and perhaps still many more why they should remain as such. The only thing that’s broken the vicious cycle between them is the way the scales have finally been tipped in Ren’s favor. But Hux doesn’t say as much. This is entirely the wrong time and place to discuss how much of a threat he once was to Ren’s authority in the First Order.

Instead, he tips his face toward Ren, kissing him and being kissed in return, not quite with the same intensity as before. He’s understandably distracted by the rhythmic pressure between his legs. Ren is moving faster now, having found his stride, and it feels good. In fact, there’s a familiar coil of pleasure winding itself tightly between his thighs. It’s been so long, he’d almost forgotten how wonderful this can be with the right kind of partner

He shudders again when Ren suddenly settles for a deeper grind, realizing this might be one of the few instances he actually reaches climax. And he does. It hits him between one stroke and the next as the coil finally snaps. He tips his head back and tenses, clinging to Ren like a lifeline. He doesn’t scream by some small miracle, but he does feel as though his world has been toppled off its axis.  

Ren murmurs something against the hollow of his throat, but it’s completely lost on him. He thinks he’s managed to trip Ren over the edge, too, clenching down hard enough that Ren slows to a few hard thrusts before he stills completely. He collapses on top of Hux, panting hotly against his throat. He doesn’t move for quite some time.

Slick with sweat and semen, they stick together in the worst way imaginable. But Hux doesn’t have the strength to push him aside. In fact, through the haze of pleasure, he begins to collect his thoughts again. They’re all tainted with a healthy dose of fear, for the moment of truth usually comes after all passions are spent, when rationality returns to his partner’s mind. He’s given something to Ren and now he can only hope it was enough to satisfy whatever it was the other man was looking for.

Before too long, Ren finally musters the strength to pull out and roll over beside him, running a hand through his wild hair. Hux closes his eyes. He almost wishes he could sleep right now.

He’s waiting for Ren to say something when suddenly there’s a soft chime in the other room, an indication that a droid is requesting access to Ren’s quarters. Ren sits up slowly and tilts his head to one side and then the other, stretching out a kink in his neck. Hux stares at his back, eyeing the sharp red streaks where he nearly gouged the man with his nails. He hopes Ren isn’t upset about that.

Eventually, Ren rises to his feet and tucks himself back into his trousers before leaving the room. Once he’s gone, Hux pushes himself up, trying to ignore the sharp twinge the whole length of his lower spine as he struggles to his feet. It takes him a moment to adjust to the ache before he makes his way over to the side door of the refresher, keen on cleaning up before he’s faced with whatever happens next.

Normally, he can wash up, shave, and dress in a manner of minutes before heading off to his shift, but he’s feeling too sluggish and sore to rush the process now. He leans against the small metal sink and glances up at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, eyes drawn to the faint pink mark where he was shot. Bacta doesn’t do so well with burn wounds too long after scar tissue forms, not without cutting out the damaged muscle and allowing the healing process to start from scratch. He feels a twinge of pain there, too, though it’s very faint. A second session in the tank seems to have done him wonders in that department.

With a sigh, he pushes off the sink and stumbles toward the sonic in the corner, flipping the water settings on. He needs a thorough rinse, which is exactly what he gives himself, scrubbing off all the sweat and grim, admittedly displeased with the amount of body fluids one normally accumulates with sex. He’s always hated the idea of someone else’s scent lingering on him. It feels too much like being branded, of relinquishing some of his hard earned control and authority to a potential enemy.

He still moves quickly, grabbing a towel off the rack beside the shower to wrap around his waist and a second smaller one to rub his hair dry. Unfortunately, he never thought to grab his clothes before retreating into the refresher, so he approaches the door cautiously, keeping to one side as it slides open, lest a droid isn’t the only visitor Ren has at the moment.

Of course, he finds nobody but Ren on the other side of the door collecting his belt and tunic off the floor. As Ren straightens, he glances first at Hux and then over at the desk, where a fresh uniform is folded next to a standard issue toiletry case. “For you,” he says.

Hux steps into the room and off to one side so that Ren can enter the refresher. He’s incredibly relieved to have a uniform again. It’s his own crutch, he supposes, the dark, heavy fabric serving as an unusual sort of armor. Without it, he’s just a man, vulnerable to anything and anyone.

He finds a comb and a small jar of pomade in the case along with a shaving kit, although he doesn’t need the latter at the moment. He combs and parts his hair so that it can begin to dry in his usual fashion as he dresses. Jodhpurs, dress shirt, and boots first, closing up his cufflinks as he glances around for a spare wall mirror. There’s one on the other side of the room which he can use for his hair, so he turns back around and finally grabs his tunic, leaving the gloves and great coat alone for the time being.

He doesn’t dare glance at the rank patch on his left arm until he has his arms through the sleeves and is pulling the clasps on the front of his tunic shut. He feels a very brief sense of relief when he notices his five usual stripes, but then he spots something different. It’s a small six-point star sitting atop the last stripe. When he glances over at the greatcoat, he sees the same new patch, meaning this addition wasn’t a mistake.

He’s initially too stunned to know how he should feel about that and only faintly recognizes the sound of the refresher door sliding open again as Ren returns. He’s slipped back into his own uniform, sans the cape and gloves, running a hand through his wet hair in a poor attempt to straighten it out.

“We’re leaving for Crait in under ten,” Ren informs him casually, glancing at Hux’s arm. He looks up again, waiting for a response.

“Alright,” Hux says faintly, still stunned. Then he stares down at his sleeve a second time. “What is this?”

“A promotion.”

“I know. But why?”

“Because you’re not a General,” Ren sighs as he wanders over to the desk. He runs his fingers down the great coat’s sleeve, pausing at the patch. “You haven’t been a General for a long time. Snoke always demanded more of you than any other officer of your rank, and yet he offered you no form of compensation for your efforts. I’m simply correcting his mistake.”

“Is this official?”

“The memo began circulating earlier this shift. I thought the news would’ve reached you sooner.”

Hux wishes it had. It would’ve saved him the apprehension of meeting with Ren, at the very least.

“Thank you,” Hux says, a simple but honest sentiment.

Ren offers him a kind of crooked smile before grabbing his gloves and slipping them on. Hux collects the small jar of pomade and the comb before moving over toward the mirror, depositing them on the small shelf beside it. He feels somewhat dazed as he coats his fingers and runs them through his damp hair, then grabs the comb to set every strand in place. Once he’s done, he feels more like his usual self again, aside from the sudden light-headedness. In fact, his vision is getting a little hazy around the edges. He’s having trouble breathing.

Hux drops the comb as he sways forward, pressing a hand up against the wall to steady himself. As the haze passes, he looks back up at the mirror, gaze darting to Ren’s reflection across the room. The man is staring back at him, silent.

Slowly, Hux turns around and waits.

Ren gives him a brief once-over, eyes lingering on Hux’s sleeve, brow furrowed. “It should be you,” he says quietly before taking a small step closer. “I wanted you to be my partner in all things.”

Considering all the trouble he’s been through today, Hux feels remarkably calm at the moment. Cold, even. “I could never be your equal,” he replies coolly. “But then, you’re not really interested in having an equal. You want someone you can manipulate, either through fear or profit. My other self is a much better choice in that regard.”

Ren’s face darkens but he keeps his voice relatively even as he says, “At my side, you would be one of the most powerful men in existence. You could shape the universe to your vision. Who could possibly offer you more?”

“Someone who actually shares my vision,” Hux levels back at him. “Someone who understands that the cultural differences and minor disputes between species is not a sign of chaos—that the universe doesn’t _need_ to be united under one banner to promote progress. The First Order isn’t the great equalizer you think it is.”

“Civilization was stable under the Old Empire. Anarchy is all that the Rebellion introduced to our lives. You can’t _honestly_ tell me there is peace and justice in every corner of the universe, that there aren’t those who still suffer needlessly.”

“More people are likely suffering _because_ of the First Order,” Hux snaps, finally losing his composure. He doesn’t understand how someone could be so…so _stupid._ “We’ve razed whole cities to the ground, taken children from their homes and turned them into soldiers, bought and strong-armed our way into politics—Ren, how could you _possibly_ forget the damage we ourselves have done?”

“This is the crucible that the universe must endure before it can be made whole again,” Ren seethes in return, still advancing. “If it weren’t for people like my mother and the Republic, there would no need for such underhanded tactics. This is the game we _need_ to play to restore order.”

“Then we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“How can you be so _blind_?” Ren reaches out to grab him by the arms. Hux manages not to flinch away despite the screaming urge to retreat. “Why is your other self the only one capable of seeing reason?”

“Don’t worry,” Hux grits out, “he isn’t buying your brand of justice any more than I am. He’ll serve you only as long as it benefits him. He already has his suspicions about Snoke’s death. Sooner or later he _will_ make an attempt on your life.”

“Are you saying that out of spite?” Ren replies, “Or are you just that concerned for my well being?”

Hux opens his mouth to speak but mentally stumbles over his next words. Ren’s inquiry begs an equally important question in return, something Hux should’ve asked the man long ago.

“Why do you need me?” he says, quieter this time, confused. “My other self has the same military experience, the same body…You’ve already seen what he’s willing to do to stay in your good graces. You have everything you could possibly want from him.”

Ren relaxes his grip on Hux’s arms ever so slightly, eyes downcast, hesitant. Hux remains silent as he waits for his answer, but he has a feeling it’s already staring him in the face. He looks at Ren and sees that insecure boy again, the one starving for the smallest scrap of human affection…

He thinks he understands.

Ren’s eyes snaps up to his face again. “You other self hated me for the way in which I questioned his authority. _You_ hated me for the part I played against the Resistance. And yet…” His grip on Hux’s arms relaxes further, hands slipping down toward his elbows. “The first time we met, through the fog of all that hatred, you pitied me. You looked at me and saw something worth consideration and respect. Love even. When you gave yourself to me, I felt it again. Even now, you can’t look at me without seeing the man behind the apparent ‘monster’, can you?”

He…

He swallows, uncertain. Hux _did_ see the part of Ren that was still human. Wanted to nurture it, in fact, but Ren…Ren doesn’t understand that he’s slowly but surely killing off that side of himself.

Stars help them both.

Hux tries to speak again, to hopefully better explain himself, but the comm at Ren’s belt chooses them to drone out a low warning beep. If Hux had to guess, he’d say someone was trying to inform Ren that their forces were finally prepared for the ground attack on Crait. All that’s left is the Supreme Leader himself to lead them into battle.

This is it then.

Panic squirms its way down his throat and into his stomach. Lightheaded again, he says, “Don’t kill them. Please.”

The tension in Ren’s brow softens, a touch of weakness freely given. Quietly, he says, “I have to.”

“But your mother—”

“I have to,” he repeats, a little louder this time. He closes his eyes. “With the Republic still standing, this needs to be the pivot point in our new history. If the Resistance doesn’t fall, the First Order will never truly rise.”

Hux finally yanks his arms free, taking a wide step back. He’s close enough to the wall that he bumps into the mirror before he stops, rattling it precariously in its frame. He can’t believe this, can’t believe Ren would go so far…

Faintly, desperate, Hux says, “If you kill her, you’ll destroy the only part left of you worth loving.”

Ren stares at him blankly for a moment, clearly stunned. Then his expression hardens, a storm brewing in his eyes. A veil of darkness passes over him, suffocating whatever human element he might’ve embodied leading up this bitter truth.  

And Hux…Hux doesn’t care. He feels weak. Drained. He knows there’s nothing else he can say to change the other man’s mind.

He can’t win.

To his credit, Ren doesn’t attack him. Instead, he quietly says. “In a year or so, I imagine the First Order will succeed in establishing a sense of stability in the universe. When it does, I’ll return you to the conscious world. Perhaps _then_ you will understand how worthy I am of your passion and respect.”

He raises a hand.

There’s a terrible ringing in Hux’s ears, that devastating tune again ricocheting inside his skull, accompanied by the sound of the proverbial gates slamming shut on his existence. He’s terrified of what it means. A year long imprisonment, his waking self roaming free, destroying all that he’s been trying to protect. He—

—comes to his senses standing by the desk, pulling his last glove on. He’s already wearing his great coat, which hangs heavily over his slender frame. He sways dangerous on his feet for a second before he corrects his stance, feeling as though he lost time again. His heart is pounding against his ribs. The room spins.

Hux raises a hand to his chest, pressing it flat against his sternum, willing his heart to slow. In the corner of his eye, he spots Ren by the door adjusting his cape.

It must be time then.

Ren glances back at him expectantly, waiting for Hux to join him before he opens the door. They exit Ren’s temporary quarters together and gradually make their way down the corridors to the loading bay. Officers and stormtroopers alike dart quickly aside as they pass, saluting smartly before continuing on with their duties. Hux is pleased to see that a sense of order still remains amongst his people, despite their most recent ordeal. After all, perseverance in the face of adversity is key to their survival.

After they’ve entered the lift to Bay 3 and the doors slide shut before them, Ren turns to him and says, “I want you to appoint someone to your usual duties once we’re finished with Crait. I have a job for you.”

While it’s true that Snoke overworked him as a General, fulfilling his regular duties were a part of Hux’s daily rhythm. They helped him maintain his focus. Of course, every rank came with its unique duties, but he finds it curious that Ren already has something planned for him. He’s clearly improved on his ability to strategize in warfare beyond the scope of his lightsaber or TIE-Fighter.

“As you wish,” Hux replies. “What did you have in mind?”

The way Ren’s gaze is fixed on the lift doors, jaw tense, betrays some of his inner turmoil. Hux imagines he’s thinking about his mother and what he’ll have to do with her once they apprehend the last of the Resistance. He looks like he wants to break something. Instead, he asks, “Do you still have the list of candidate planets for the _Starkiller_ base?”

“I do…” he replies, somewhat hesitant.

“Good. I want you to build another weapon.”

This is the second time today the man has completely side-blinded him. He’s just full of surprises.

Hope rises inside Hux, but he quickly beats it back down again. He could be misinterpreting the other man’s request. After all, Ren never had much faith in his first weapon. It never even had the chance to fulfill its purpose before it was destroyed.

“A mobile planet?” he asks tentatively, making no effort to hide his bewilderment. “With the same capabilities as _Starkiller_?”

Ren finally tears his eyes away from the door. There’s something cold and steely in his gaze. “How long would it take you to construct it?”

Stars…half the time Hux invested in developing _Starkiller_ consisted solely of designing a weapon capable of out-doing the Death Star—then scrapping those plans and drawing them out all over again, scaling and tweaking the blueprints to suit whichever planet Snoke was currently feeling a greater affinity for. The rest of his time was wasted hunting down the necessary materials for his project when so many suppliers were hesitant to deal with what they considered to be an overambitious shadow of the old Empire. The actual construction wasn’t so bad, especially with their manpower. In fact, soldiers made for great free labor during times of relative peace. Most of his setbacks came from having to deal with people outside the First Order.

As it stands, he technically has a polished design for another weapon, although he would obviously have to rehash their defences to prevent a repeat performance with the thermal oscillator. Likewise, he already knows which suppliers are willing to deal with the First Order in this day and age, although some were admittedly hesitant to help them in the first place.

Hux clears his throat as he tries to do the math inside his head. “Three standard years, max. If we can convince all of our old suppliers to back us a second time around without question, we could potentially cut that time in half. Perhaps even shave it down to a year.”

“What do you think it would take to convince them?”

“A sign that they’re backing the right team, of course. If we had succeeded in eliminating the Hosnian System, that would’ve done the trick quite nicely. Now…” Hux shakes his head. Businessmen could be such fickle creatures. No backbone whatsoever when it came with dealing with the Republic or their laughable boundaries. “I suppose evidence that we’ve eliminated the Resistance once and for all would convince them of our might. Nothing less than that.”

Hux doesn’t want to say outright that Leia Organa’s head on a platter would go a long way in proving a point, but he figures Ren can come to that conclusion on his own. Stars, just having her in shackles would be a victory, although Force users were slippery folk.

Ren is silent for a long moment, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. Then he says, “Leave that to me.”

Hux is most certainly interested to see what Ren ultimately decides to do with his mother. Fortunately, he’ll soon find out. Already their lift is slowing. As soon as they board the shuttle to Crait, they can commence with doing away with their greatest enemy once and for all.

A part of Hux sings at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, lucid!Hux is trapped in a bad situation...Sorry, man.
> 
> By the way, if you ever feel for any reason whatsoever that the story tags or warnings are not up to par, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I won’t be offended if you ask me to add or change anything.


	15. Crucible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : I can't even begin to thank you all for your incredible patience with me. Between working on the kylux big bang project and stepping up as more of a personal assistant for my wife after her injury this summer, I had next to no time to work on this series. Thankfully though, life is back to normal now. I'm really excited to get this started again.
> 
> A brief recap from the previous chapter: Having been collected/captured by the First Order, Ren gives Hux's waking self a chance to prove his loyalty. He succeeds, but Ren, ultimately, still tries to offer lucid!Hux a chance to join him of his own free will. Naturally, lucid!Hux refuses. Now, Ren is descending upon Crait and what remains of the Resistance with his new Grand Marshal in tow...

_“It is very hard for evil to take hold of the unconsenting soul.”_

― Ursula K. Le Guin

~***~

Crait is an uninhabited mineral planet of red rhodocrosite soil, overlain with a thick layer of white salt, and one of the coldest places Hux has yet to visit. Its waterways lie deep below the surface, resulting in a very dry and barren surface, only sparsely populated by small vulpine creatures and rodents. As far as inaccessible destinations go, it ranks up there with Jakku for the ungodly amount of effort it takes to haul their siege cannon across the arid landscape to the Resistance outpost on the north face of the planet. The only thing Crait has going for itself, really, is its Type-1 atmosphere.

Therefore, Hux doesn’t entirely hate it, but only because he can breathe.   

All the same, he has no real desire to leave the sanctuary of his AT-AT until the battle is well and truly over, which might not be long at all. From what they can tell, a laughable number of Resistance fighters are currently hunkered down in a trench just outside the stronghold, armed with nothing more than their wits and their blaster rifles, neither of which pose much of a challenge to the First Order.

Even so, he’s still suffering from a subtle sense of unease. He feels as though something has been… _knocked_ _askew_ , if you will. It doesn’t help that Ren can’t seem to stop pacing behind him, suffocating Hux and every other officer in the cockpit with his presence. Even though he and Hux recently engaged in a rather intimate act of comradery, Ren’s still more than capable of throwing a fit big enough to flatten every vehicle within 100 cliques. He’s a creature of habit, after all, and Snoke had never been bothered to teach him a suitable way to regulate his emotions.

Therefore, the slow tread onward feels much like its own death sentence, up until a long line of dark specks dart out of the mouth of the looming stronghold before it seals itself up again. Hux steps forward and glances down at main console where a live image of the advancing enemy has been blown up. He almost laughs at what he sees. It’s nothing more than a bunch of rusted skim speeders, wobbling precariously in the air until they deploy their mono-skis, now kicking up a plume of red dust in their wake. They’re so old, it’s a wonder they simply don’t fly apart from the effort of staying upright.

“Thirteen incoming light craft,” Hux says as the mounted guns in front of the stronghold finally open fire on them. He turns slowly to address his leader. “Shall we hold until we clear them?”

Ren stops and stares at the screen, shaking his head. “No. The Resistance is in that mine. Push through.”

It doesn’t matter to Hux either way, so when he turns back to the pilot, all eyes on him, a simple nod sets them back on track. “Only half of the fighters,” he adds, just in case General Organa has something up her sleeve. “For now.”

What follows is a tedious dance between the skim speeders on the ground and the TIE-fighters up above, picking off the Resistance ships one by one. The TIEs reach the trenches before too long and start firing on the foot soldiers. The live footage they relay back reveals that the Resistance’s numbers are truly few and far between. There’s certainly not enough of them to hold their ground for very long.

Hux watches the proceedings with a small feeling of contentment. The only thing really keeping the First Order from what they want is the stronghold door, and that won’t be a problem for much longer.

Or so he thinks—until a familiar  disc-shaped ship drops into the battle from above, blasting three TIE-fighters out of the sky in a single shot. It continues picking off fighters as it swoops across the flat landscape, inching ever closer to the AT-ATs and the siege cannon.

There’s a hot flash of anger and irritation under Hux’s collar when he finally realizes _this_ is the Millennium Falcon.

Ren is suffering a similar affliction from its sudden appearance. Incensed, he steps up to the front viewport and bellows, “Blow that piece of junk out of the sky!”

There’s a beat of stunned silence from the crew as they puzzle over how they’re supposed to do that when both the TIEs and AT-ATs are already firing at it. Hux, sensing their collective panic rising in the face of Ren’s ire, gives them a little nudge. “All fighters!” he commands, turning to his officers.

His people scramble to comply, ordering their remaining ships forward, just as the Millennium Falcon peels off from the battle, careening back toward the canyons. All of the remaining TIE-fighters pursue it, including those just recently launched, leaving the skim speeders in favor of a much bigger catch, which is really no problem at all. The AT-ATs alone are more than sufficient to deal with the Resistance’s remaining forces; only a handful of the skimmers remain, still en route to the cannon.

The fools are not going to make it.

In fact, the cannon settles into place just as the thought crosses Hux’s mind. It digs its braces into the ground and begins charging up, seconds away from blasting the stronghold’s door to kingdom come.

Ren, of course, is still utterly focused on his more minor enemies. “All fire on those speeders,” he commands, his anger still leeching out into his voice.

The AT-ATs pluck them off one by one. It’s almost comical the way in which the tiny ships are sent careening into the great unknown with a small laser ping. Almost as equally comical is the fact that the speeders are trapped in the cannon’s trajectory, unable to approach the FO’s fleet from any other angle if they hope to reach it in time—which they won’t anyway. In fact, one of the speeders begins to melt from its sheer proximity to the cannon’s initial laser blast, wobbling precariously close to the much larger range of fire, moments away from incineration. Hux watches it with a mix of excitement and confusion, counting down the seconds to its demise, when, suddenly, one of the other speeders finally breaks from formation and bodily checks its companion out of the way. The two ships collide with the ground just a few feet away from the final blast, kicking up salt as they skid to a halt.

The other speeders peel away, well aware that there’s no point in pushing onward. Hux hardly cares about them anymore. His eyes are transfixed on the glaring hole in the stronghold’s steel door.

They’re in.

Hux can feel a subtle uptick in his heartrate. He’s definitely excited. Also feeling a bit strained though. He has to resist the urge to order a forward march, still cognisant of the fact that he’s not the highest ranking official in this battle. Everyone can only proceed at Ren’s pace.

In an odd way, Hux supposes its fitting that they’re all waiting on Ren. After all, it _is_ his mother they’re hunting for just on the other side of that door. Every command he makes brings Leia Organa one step closer to her execution.

Finally, Ren voices his next order, voice eerily calm now that victory is so close at hand. “Grand Marshal, advance,” he says. “No quarter; no prisoners.”

Pleased, Hux turns to his officers. “How many are left in the trenches?”

“None, sir,” Lieutenant Pinf replies. “They’ve retreated into the stronghold.”

“Good. Keep an eye on their torrents and proceed.”

His instructions are relayed to the other AT-ATs before they simultaneously lurch back to life, the final march before their triumph.

Faintly, Hux can feel his pulse in his throat. It intensifies momentarily, some strange quality of his excitement. He realizes he has much to look forward to once they bury the Resistance, such as the return of _Starkiller_ and the subsequent subjugation of the universe. The Republic has already demonstrated its reluctance in treating any galactic threat, real or perceived, with the attention it deserves, and Hux looks forward to showing them the errors of their ways.

There’s another uptick in his heartrate. However, this one is triggered by something rather unusual, the sudden appearance of a dark figure stepping out from the stronghold, walking confidently toward them.  

One of his officers is in the process of blowing up the newcomer’s image when Ren suddenly barks, “Stop!”

Their forces creak to a halt. All eyes are on Ren as he steps past Hux and tersely says, “I want _every_ gun we have to fire on that man.”

Hux stares at the back of his head, momentarily taken aback by the venom in Ren’s voice. What he’s asking for is an unnecessary waste of resources. Granted, they _have_ the firepower, but surely Ren must see how ridiculous he’s being.

Evidently not, because as soon as it becomes apparent to Ren that no one is eager to follow through with his command, he says, in a tone both low and dangerous, “Do it.”

Someone with an itchy trigger finger fires off a blast at his command and this seems to shake everyone from their stupor. All at once, a hundred shots are let loose in their assailant’s general direction. They begin to peter out momentarily, before Ren barks, “More!”

The pulse in Hux’s throat has now turned into a steady pressure that spreads down into his chest. There’s also the almost imperceptible quiver of fear in his stomach, a feeling like doom cresting over the horizon.

Hux curls his hands into fists at his sides, uncertain of what unknown threat Ren has managed to perceive in all this madness.

“More!” Ren barks again when one of the pilots glances back at him worriedly. The man’s eyes then flicker to Hux, begging for clarification.

“That’s enough,” Hux says once he finds his voice, stepping forward. But Ren, who’s practically vibrating with anger, clearly isn’t listening to him.  

Sensing the futility of getting through to their Supreme Leader while he’s this irate, Hux turns to the pilots, steps up to the command panel, and shouts, “That’s enough!”

The onslaught comes to an abrupt end, guns deactivating with a low whine. Ren drops back into his chair somewhat heavily, still angry, although at least not arguing with Hux’s sensibilities.

“Do you think you got him?” Hux jabs, hoping to point out Ren’s childish behavior without having to call him outright for it; the last thing he really wants to do is start a fight with the man in public. Once it’s clear that Ren has nothing to say on the matter, Hux turns back to his officers. “Now, if we’re ready to get moving, we can finish this.”

“Sir?” one of his pilots inquires, voice pitched high with concern.

Beside him, Ren rises back to his feet and approaches the glass. Hux doesn’t know what’s going on until the dust begins to settle and the dark figure on the ground is revealed, still standing. In fact he’s hardly moved from his position, as if their fire had gone straight over his head.

Someone finally zooms in on his picture. He hasn’t a hair out of place.

Hux frowns, studying the man’s weathered face. A sense of familiarity tickles the back of his brain.

Remarkably, the longer he stares at this man, the foggier the rest of his reality becomes. Hux only vaguely hears Ren’s rattled exhale and his sharp, “Bring me down to him; keep the door covered and don’t advance until I say.” In fact, Hux has a few words of wisdom to share with Ren on why that sounds like a phenomenally _bad_ idea, but Ren’s childish ambitions are suddenly no longer registering on any emotional level for Hux. He doesn’t even protest when Ren marches briskly onto the lift, because he’s too caught up on this strange man.

He blinks.

He’s…

He’s standing in a forest.

He’s standing in a forest, hovering in the threshold of their little hut. All around him, the greenery is wet with morning dew, a low, thin mist carpeting the ground as the sun rises in the distance. Ahead of him sits a man on a log, resting beneath the open canopy of a small, willowy tree. The leaves veil him, but Hux can still see who it is.

It’s Luke.

Of course, he’s been wrong before. He’s been made a fool of before, too, but this…this warmth, this quiet, this solitude feels both familiar and safe. He won’t find Brendol here. Or Ren. Not now.

At least for a little while.

Though Hux knows time flows differently here in comparison to his real world, there’s no telling how long he has before everything comes crashing down on him again. Therefore, it only takes a small nudge from his homesick heart to get his feet moving, carrying him slowly through the underbrush to the little log Luke has settled himself upon. Neither one of them initially says anything as Hux takes a seat beside him. Hux, of course, has half a million questions running through his mind, but somehow none of them seem to matter in the face of everything that is currently happening.

Instead of speaking, Hux preserves this moment of peace by scanning the scenery, drinking it all in one last time—because this _is_ the last time he’ll see it. He’s sure of it. In a year or so, when Ren drags him back to the conscious world, Hux will deny him one last time.

He doesn’t think his lucid self will survive the consequences of that.

“I’m sorry.”

Hux turns to his companion and quietly says, “For what?”

Luke offers him a small, wiry grin, something that seems as old and worn as time itself. “As if you didn’t already know.”

“I have an inkling,” Hux admits, “but an apology is really only needed if you’ve hurt or terribly inconvenienced someone, neither of which, I believe, really applies to me.”

“Unbelievable,” Luke snorts softly, staring down at his weathered hands, rubbing the knuckles of his left absently. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“If it weren’t for you…I wouldn’t be alive; I wouldn’t be _me_.” Luke looks up at him finally. Hux stares into his pale blue eyes for a moment and then says, “Whatever harm you think you might have done to me, it doesn’t outweigh the good. I just thought you should know…”

Hux realizes then that those pale blue eyes are a little watery. In fact, Luke’s gaze falls to his hands again, as if he needs a minute to collect himself. Graciously, Hux affords it to him.

After a moment, Luke continues. This time, his voice is uneven, caught on the edge of emotion. “I love him… I loved him the moment Leia told me she was going to have him. Before then, I couldn’t even fathom the idea of loving someone I hadn’t even met.”

Hux understands that _this_ is both Luke’s greatest strength and weakness in this whole messy endeavour, the hope and love he harbors too far gone for help.

There is a lot that love can do for a person. However, there’s a reason, Hux thinks, that the Jedi tend to shy away from it and just about every other emotion on the spectrum. It gives way to worry and fear. In some situations, it even stays our hand when we need to pass judgment on those we love.

Such is the sad tale of Luke and his nephew.

“He had every right to fear me,” Luke continues. “There’s a scar on your mind where he touched you, where he shared his memories. I know what he showed you, and it’s not a lie. I came to him one night to determine what was weighing on him. After what I discovered, I felt compelled to strike him down.”

It pains Hux to hear that, the affirmation of Ren’s perspective of the same story. It puts the quiver back in his heart. However, it doesn’t drive him away from Luke, because he knows what Luke is capable of, and nepoticide doesn’t really belong on that list. “But you didn’t,” he supplies, hoping to push Luke past this point so that he can find his own peace. “You were tempted, but you fought that temptation. Didn’t you?”

“And yet I still feel as though I shouldn’t have succumbed to those dark thoughts in the first place.”

“Don’t be vain.”

Luke glances aside at him, frowning.

“Powers aside, you’re still just a man,” Hux explains. “All those emotions you try to smother as a Jedi still exist inside of you. You’re far from perfect.”

“Perhaps,” Luke agrees, nodding slowly. “I’m certainly a victim of my hubris. I thought I could save him, like I saved you and my father. I just…got ahead of myself.”

“Ben needs saving,” There’s certainly no use arguing against that point. “But he’s beyond outside help. And, unfortunately, I don’t think he’s looking to be saved anymore. He’s happy just the way he is.”

A pained expression crosses Luke’s face, but he doesn’t deny it. Luke knows the futility of trying to draw Ren back from the darkness. Hux simply wonders if he also knows Ren was beyond his help _long_ before he left with his uncle to learn the ways of the Force.

“You’re right,” Luke replies quietly, “and I think this is as good as any segue into something we need to discuss about you.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve been at war with yourself for a very long time, too, kid.”

Hux looks down at the ground between his feet, thinking of his other ‘self’, the one that’s practically salivating for the opportunity to witness the death of General Organa. Such a despicable creature. Leaving his lucid self at the mercy of the ‘Grand Marshall’s’ flawed ideologies is, perhaps, the cruelest punishment Ren could’ve conjured up for him—most of all, because Hux knows this monster is simply him.

“Not all good men are able to keep goodness in their hearts,” Luke continues. “We had this discussion once before, a very long time ago. Do you remember?”

He does, actually. “…We were talking about your father and the fact that he saved you from Sidious.”

“And we had it again, after the death of your own father. It’s the same idea as what you just told me here—I’m not perfect; neither are you. We are all tempted to the dark side. We all fall, some farther than others, but it doesn’t mean we’re past the point of no return. I needed to remember that to come back here today.”

“But it…” Hux closes his hand into a fist in his lap, trying to find the right words, “…it isn’t the _same_. Your mettle was tested the day you doubted yourself, but you were still able to stay your hand. For all the darkness that was weighing down on your mind, the light was always there to draw you back. With my other self, there’s…this _void_ inside of me when he’s at the helm. There isn’t any way to keep him in check. He’s—”

“You speak of him as if he was your equal.”

Hux stumbles for a moment, somewhat surprised by the observation.

“Or worse,” Luke continues, “you speak of him as if he was your master. In reality, he’s neither—never was and never will be.”

“Given the power he holds over me, I beg to differ.”

“No. He’s ‘you’ with some fairly severe deductions. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to experience love or kindness. Because of that, he’s been made a lesser man, though through no fault of his own.”

“Does the darkness make us lesser men?” Hux asks, confused.

“Momentarily, yes.” Luke pauses a moment to conjure a better explanation. “But your other self is something else entirely. Think of it this way: his existence will always hang in the balance, because if he was ever made aware of even one of your memories, it would shake the very foundations of his reality. He would cease to exist. You, on the other hand—even when all of these memories have been purged from your mind, it will never be the end of you. You know this; you’ve been put through this vicious cycle countless times. You cannot be purged from the universe.”

“His actions are still my own,” Hux replies, “including what he has planned for the universe. His reality—or ‘unreality’ doesn’t change that.”

Luke nods, as if he was already aware of those lofty aspirations and didn’t think they deserved much thought. “I think you should focus more on what _you_ have planned for the universe, kid.”

Hux almost snorts at the old man. He never thought he would survive this long, so he never really considered what he wanted to do with the theoretical ‘rest’ of his life. Settle down somewhere peaceful and obscure, perhaps, fall in love, have a child or two—a simple, yet unattainable, dream. His vision for the future had hardly the same magnitude as that of his other self. In fact, it was laughable in comparison.

And, again, it was _unattainable_. Thanks to Ren, his other self is in charge of their shared life for the foreseeable future.

“I have one other piece of advise,” Luke continues. “When you get the chance, _run_. Don’t delay, not anymore, kid.”

Hux almost laughs, because in a year or so, whenever Ren decides to let him out of his little box, the new Supreme Leader is going to make sure there _are_ no opportunities for escape.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hux replies, only to humor him.

Luke stares off into the distance for a moment, chin tilted up, listening. Hux listens too, eyes scanning the vegetation, focusing on the gentle rustle of the leaves. Beneath the sounds of nature, though, he can hear a human voice. Faintly. It belongs to a man.

It’s Ren.

Hux is so focused on trying to decipher what Ren’s saying, the sensation of Luke’s hand gently curling over his own on the log startles him. It’s so warm to the touch and heavily callused. It pulls him back to this last precious moment between them, to Luke’s small smile and sad eyes.

Hux knows that look.

It means goodbye.

There’s a sudden weight in his stomach as he realizes that the eleventh hour has come and passed. It feels as though something has been stolen from him. He’s waited so long to see his friend again. It’s too soon for this to end.

But unfortunately, it is what it is.

Despite the tightening of his throat, Hux manages to say, “Thank you. For saving me.”

Luke’s face relaxes momentarily, a bit of his old happiness shining through. “Take care, Armitage.”

Hux blinks again.

And just like that, he’s back in the bridge of the AT-AT, standing behind the pilots, staring out the front viewport at a scene he can’t quite decipher. Part of the problem stems from the fact that he’s _still here_ , as his lucid self. So shocking is the revelation, in fact, he almost breaks character when he’s hit with the urge to pinch himself. The only thing stopping him is the immediate realization that he can see Luke down on the ground, standing just a few paces away from Ren, powering down his lightsaber.

There’s an anxious flutter in his pulse as Hux questions the wisdom of that move. In the corner of the screen, where Luke’s image has been magnified, Hux can see that he is saying something to Ren. Which seems ridiculous, because they both know Ren is beyond being reasoned with. All Ren wants is an opening, to cut Luke down.

After Luke’s said his piece, there’s a long and uncomfortable stretch of silence between the two fighters. For one wild moment, Hux wonders if Luke managed to get through to Ren, if somehow managed to provide the foolish boy with something else he’d been looking for.

Then Ren moves.

It’s over in the span of a breath. Ren charges his old mentor, bisecting him cleanly, mid-torso. Then he stops, shoulders heaving, and turns to take in his handiwork.

Stunned, Hux takes a step forward, knees so weak he almost stumbles. Thankfully, no one notices. More than one of his officers makes a soft sound of surprise or amazement, stunned for an entirely different reason. Here, they have just witnessed the defeat of their greatest foe.

Here, too, Hux has just lost one of his oldest friends.

There’s a crushing sensation in his chest that feels like the collapse of his universe. One of the greatest heroes of the century was just felled by his own flesh and blood, surrounded by enemies. Hux shudders to think what they intend to do with Luke’s body once Ren declares the duel over, because the First Order is a cruel and uncaring beast. Desecrating the dead is not beyond them. He doesn’t think he can stomach whatever happens next.

But what _does_ happen next is, perhaps, more stunning than that final blow. Luke turns, slowly, to face his nephew. His body doesn’t crumple to the ground. Instead, he stands and stares at Ren, waiting.

Hux can tell by the unnatural silence of the bridge that everyone is holding their breath. While their universe is now collapsing, a warmth is spreading inside of him, chasing away the darkness. His chest swells with happiness and hope, even if his throat is tight again, the twinge of loss still tainting this monumental victory, because their final farewell was just that: final. Hux knows it even before Luke vanishes. He can feel a sudden absence in the back of his mind, the severance of a very old connection.

In its loss, Hux comes to realize Luke had somehow always been with him.

The pain of that severance is excruciating, but Hux doesn’t bow to it. Wherever Luke is now, he’s a part of something much greater than them all. There is no more pain for him; he can finally be at peace.

And what’s more, he left entirely on his own terms—distracting Ren from getting what he _truly_ wanted.

Leia, Hux knows, must be safe now.

“Grand Marshal?”

Lightheaded, Hux almost doesn’t hear the woman. After an almost too-long pause, he inclines his head toward the Lieutenant. “Yes?”

She swallows, hard, clearly nervous. “What are your orders, sir?”

Hux nearly forgot that the game isn’t over for him yet. Luke had given him a gift by returning him to his lucid state, but the clock is ticking before Ren realizes something was up. Hux has to keep up the pace, at least until he can put together an exit strategy.

 _What_ that exit strategy will be is entirely beyond him at this point, because there is literally no way he can flee the First Order, either down here on Crait or up on one of their Star Destroyers.

Knowing he can’t let his nerves get the better of him, least of all now, Hux clears his throat and says, “Deploy the troops, but proceed with caution. We don’t know what other tricks the Resistance has up their sleeve.”

His officers follow his orders to a tee, even though they can tell Ren is impatiently waiting for his back up before he proceeds into the stronghold. Nobody really wants to touch the ground after that display, and Hux doesn’t blame them.

Inevitably, he himself is lowered onto the planet’s surface. He can practically taste the salt in the air and makes a conscious effort not to kick it up too much as he approaches Ren, who at least looks calmer now that he’s had a moment to come to terms with the fact that Luke is beyond his reach. Outwardly, Hux knows he himself has a similarly calm façade; internally, his mind is racing. He’s gripped with fear, convinced that Ren’s going to find him out any second now.

Remarkably, Ren is too caught up in his own thoughts to apparently notice. He stares at the spot where Luke Skywalker once stood until Hux approaches. Then he spares Hux barely a glance before he turns briskly away and marches on to the stronghold.

Cautiously, Hux falls in line behind him, keeping a safe distance between them, wondering what they will find in the Resistance base. As it turns out, not much. There’s a plethora of old machinery and empty storage containers all over the hanger, which the troopers pass over in favor of searching the inner rooms of the sanctuary for any remaining Resistance fighters. Intuitively, Hux knows they won’t find anyone, but this relief is short-lived as he looks around and realizes there truly is nowhere he can run. The proverbial clock’s still ticking, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He’s momentarily distracted from his frantic thoughts when he notices the way Ren purposely singles out one of the side officers. The Supreme Leaders enters it alone and crouches down to collect something off the floor. Hux can’t see what it is, because Ren’s back is turned to him.

Ren’s back is turned.

Hux is suddenly struck by the vivid memory of his waking self stabbing an opponent in the back with his monomolecular blade. It slide so easily between the ribs and into the heart. Hux hardly felt any resistance.

Of course, Hux doesn’t have his wrist blade with him. He doesn’t even have a blaster. Of course, he could liberate one from a passing trooper and finish Ren off with a single shot. It would be easy.

…

No, actually. It wouldn’t.

Distracted as Ren is with his anger and grief, Hux still can’t find it in himself to kill this man. He can’t strike down someone when their back is turned, or they’re at their lowest point, even though this is the same brand of sentimentality that got him into trouble in the first place. In fact, if he doesn’t get over said sentimentality soon, Ren is going to catch a whiff of it, and then Hux will have well and truly failed himself for the last time.

Heart racing, hands clenched into fists, Hux stands before this new crisis and trembles. A part of him still wants to act. He _should_ act. He—

“Hux.”

His head snaps to right, frowning. That was Leia’s voice. He’s sure of it.

He stands there for a moment and scans the hanger, searching for the source. Just as he’s beginning to wonder if his stress-addled brain conjured the sound from the depths of his memories, he catches a glimpse of movement at the mouth of one of the caves before it fades into the shadows.

It’s Leia.

Or a projection of her, at least.

Anxiously, Hux stares at the empty space she once occupied before glancing back at Ren’s sullen form. He’s caught between two decisions: kill Ren, if he can, or flee.

Remarkably, the answer comes to him quickly, his anxiety melting away into nothingness as he slowly turns away.

Luke told him to run.

So he’s going to run.

Not literally, of course, even if it’s an honest effort not to break into a sprint. He marches slowly but purposefully across the hanger toward the mouth of the cave, stopped only once by an officer, who calmly states, “Sir, we’ve checked the—”

“Check it again,” he retorts, delivering his response in a cold, even tone that leaves no room for failure. “If you’ve missed so much as the _slightest_ detail, a demotion will be the least of your worries.”

Eyes wide, the officer salutes him and scurries off, eager to uncover something Hux knows probably isn’t there.

Other than that one interruption, everyone else ignores him. His presence is so familiar to them, he walks without further confrontation, though his anxiety continues to mount, still waiting for the moment Ren discovers something is amiss.

His anxiety doesn’t abate until he’s enveloped by the darkness. Even then, it’s not that much of an improvement since he can barely see five feet in front of his face. The surrounding ice provides a curious glow, but it isn’t the best illumination, and he’s getting rather cold. Not knowing where he’s going, this is fast becoming one of the worst decisions he’s made today.

_“Hux.”_

He stops.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking, though the ache in his legs suggests it’s been for quite some time. Which is beginning to pay off, because she sounded louder this time. Closer.

He takes this moment to reorient himself. For the most part, he hasn’t been paying much attention to his directionality. Whenever he came to a fork in the tunnel, he chose a route at random and continued onward. Now, he feels, it’s important to pay attention. So he does.

Up ahead of him is another junction, one that splits into three tunnels. He can barely see them; can hardly tell what makes them different. So he waits, and he watches.

Visually, nothing changes. However, he feels the faint brush of air against his right cheek. He glances over at the corresponding path.

That way, then.

But he only makes it two steps before he hears it.

Her distorted tune.

Terror seizes him again. He’s been on edge ever since his talk with Luke, but now his brain has kicked his fear response into overdrive. He feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest. He knows he needs to remember to breathe.

He gets lightheaded for a moment and believes this is the end of it—of _everything_ —

But nothing changes.

Though he feels as though he’s seconds away from collapsing either physically or philosophically into the void, he remains as he is, solid in every imaginable form and utterly alone. And when he finds the courage to turn his head, to look back the way he came, he discovers no one standing there. Ren, though aware that Hux is on the run, is still obviously far from finding him in person.

Luke…freed him.

It takes him a moment to process this. It’s too monumental to handle from the get-go, even as that awful tune fades into nothingness. Luke freed him…Luke built the original triggers, so it only makes sense he would be able to destroy them, despite Ren’s meddling. This was the very last of his gifts, his final motion toward undoing all the harm he thought he’d done to Hux.

So astonished is he by his newfound freedom, it takes Hux an embarrassingly long time to remember that he’s currently on the run. Now that Ren _knows_ he’s free, it will only be a matter of time before the FO sniffs him out. He needs to make his exit before it’s too late.

Spirit now somewhat fortified by his newfound liberty, Hux feels considerably calmer. He takes in a slow, deep breath and turns around—

Then he promptly stumbles over a half rotten log and begins tumbling down the leafy incline on the other side, hands scrambling for purchase in the tangle of vines rushing past beneath him.

Eventually, he manages to slow his descent, grateful to have been wearing gloves as he lies there on the damp vegetation. There’s a rock digging into his stomach, but he doesn’t care. He needs a moment to get his bearings before he tries standing again.

Unnerved by the sudden transition between worlds, Hux glances down this hill at the bottom of the incline. It ends in twenty or so feet with a cliff, one overhanging a lake. It’s followed by a long drop, although the water below is deep, and the height isn’t lethal. Hux knows, because he’s tumbled this way before, though how he returned to the pocket universe without any conscious effort on his part is a mystery.

Unfortunately, that mystery is solved when he finally pushes himself up on his knees and turns his gaze over toward the top of the incline. Ren is standing there, one foot braced against the log, a black specter against the clear, blue sky spread out beyond him.

Hux freezes.

Ren doesn’t immediately address him. Rather, he looks up and away, studying the vast stretch of azure above. Hux can faintly hear Leia’s tune once more in the distance, though it fades quickly. No doubt Ren is still searching for the trigger, hopeful it hasn’t been completely destroyed.

But it has. Hux can feel it. And, soon enough, so Ren does, gaze suddenly darting from the sky to Hux’s precariously balanced stance on the slope. He’s silent for a long moment, weighing Hux down with his eyes.

Hux doesn’t move a muscle.

“This is his doing, I presume,” Ren cocks his head to one side, still staring down at Hux, as if this is the most natural arrangement between them, he with the higher ground. “You hardly have the strength to resist me.”

If Ren is calling him untalented in the ways of the Force, he is absolutely correct. In fact, Hux doesn’t consider it so much an insult as a matter of fact. Besides, he’s too preoccupied with his current predicament to give anything of what Ren might say much thought. Most of his energy is now focused on not panicking over the lack of a feasible escape strategy.

“He’s won,” Hux returns, trying for a jab of his own as he mulls over his limited options. All that he knows, indefinitely, is that he can’t go up. _Up_ is where Ren is. _Up_ is also a difficult climb without equipment. Therefore, _up_ is out of the question.

“Is that what you think?” Ren inquires, voice low and level, remarkably calm but still promising danger . “He hasn’t won anything. He played an elaborate trick to distract me while my mother scurried off into the shadows, but it’s only a matter of time before I find her again. Meanwhile, Luke’s fled this plane of existence and left you stranded in my line of sight.”

What a delicate choice of words. “Are you going to shoot me?” Hux asks, wondering if it’s finally come to that. Death, though not ideal, is certainly preferable to anything else Ren or the First Order could do to him.

“Am I going to kill you, you mean?” Ren clarifies. He stares down at Hux with his too dark eyes, still weighing him, unblinking. “Never.”

Slowly, steadily, Ren takes a step over the log.

Hux’s heart flutters in his throat and he tenses. The resulting subtle shift in his weight sends him sliding on his knees a few inches further down the incline, still barely finding purchase on the wet vegetation with his gloved hands. Another long tumble seems inevitable at this point.

Ren, of course, has no trouble keeping his balance as he takes another calculated step down. “I’m going to run you through your father’s Reconditioning program,” he continues, voice hardening, “and I’m going to purge every explicit memory from your mind. I’ll leave the necessary protocols and the Order’s hive-minded buzz behind, but I otherwise intend to carve you out and build you up again into something entirely more suitable.”

Hux is afraid. He sees no point in mincing words about it—Ren has chased him to the very edge of the universe, invading his most sacred space, and Hux knows he’s capable of carrying out his threats. Despite Luke’s efforts, Hux has, yet again, reached the end of the line.

“More suitable for what?” he asks, still stalling, looking for an exit.

“For something that belongs to me,” Ren seethes, raising his hand out toward Hux.

For a split second, Hux feels an unusual buzz in the air reverberating in his bones. He feels it passing _through_ him and out into the space around him, bending to Ren’s will.

And Hux feels himself pulling it back, just ever so slightly.

He slips.

His right knee goes out from under him, and he slams his hip into a concealed rock beneath the vines. He chokes out a small cry of alarm as he then proceeds to slide the rest of way down the incline, quickly gaining speed until he reaches the end of the slope and finally drops off the edge. He spends only a few moments longer plummeting through the air until he then hits the water, flailing, hoping it’s just as deep as he remembered.

The cold plunge is an obvious shock to his system. There’s a hazy moment of too-bright, dappled light, followed by a vicious prickling sensation all along the surface of his skin before he comes to his senses and kicks his way back toward the surface. He shucks off his greatcoat as he goes, relieved to have the weight off his shoulders as he sucks in his first breath of air. His then pulls his gloves off quickly and begins swimming eastward, keeping to the shade of the overhanging cliff, angling toward the shore where he spent so many summers of his mind.

He’s half expecting Ren to drop down into the water after him, but he doesn’t. For some reason, that scares him more than anything, because the only thing worse than having a predator like Ren on the hunt for him is not knowing his current whereabouts. After all, it’s hard to react appropriately to something when you can’t see it.

Not that he has any idea what he _would_ do if he laid eyes on Ren again. Having witnessed Ren’s interrogation techniques in the past, Hux knows the other man can do a considerable amount of damage to him without ending his life. Given that they’re mentally occupying an entirely different plane of existence from that of their bodies, the possibilities are endless for Ren. He could probably chop Hux to bits in this realm and metaphysically tear his sanity asunder, carving him out, as advertised, without actually hitting the kill switch.

Even if death is removed from the equation, Hux has a healthy fear of pain. Back when he was just starting off as an officer, he was subjected to the same anti-interrogation training as just about everyone else in the FO, and he was told that he scored really no better or worse than his peers. Everyone yielded sooner or later.

So too would he.

Though he knows he should try to conserve his energy, Hux books it to shore as fast as he possibly can. He doesn’t know yet where he needs to go, but treading out in open water is a grand way to get caught. He needs cover; he needs the forest.

He’s heaving more than he normally would after a quick swim by the time he reaches land. He knows it’s because of the ever-expanding balloon of fear in his chest, cramming his heart up into the base of his throat. He realizes it’s because that he still hasn’t taken the time to figure out what his exit strategy is, and his lack of plan is only adding to his panic. He needs to take a moment to figure something out before he royally screws himself over.

Eyes scanning the forest, Hux braces his hands against his hips, minding the bruise forming there, and tries to think. Despite the voice screaming at the back of his head for him to run, he doesn’t budge a muscle.

And in three seconds tops, it comes to him.

He needs to leave.

This is his sanctuary— _his_ brain. Ren pulled him in here to stall him while he tried to track Hux down. Given that this is Hux’s pocket reality, he should be able to come and go as he pleases. Theoretically, anyway.

Seeing as nothing ventured is nothing gained, Hux closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself down from the perilous high induced by all the adrenaline flooding his system. He’s so close to Leia and salvation. Physically, he could be just a few meters away from the freedom Luke fought to return to him.

He feels a pull then, similar to the weightiness behind the eyes that precedes sleep. It’s followed by a moment of darkness, that bridge between one world and next. He enters the passage seamlessly.

But it’s in that darkness that he feels another pull, the same distortion of the fibres of reality whenever Ren imposes his will on anything in the immediate vicinity. It doesn’t stop Hux, per se, but he can feel the tension of it stretching out across his body, like a spiderweb or a trip-wire tugged precariously out of place.

It figures that Ren would keep his thumb on the pulse of Hux’s universe.

The oily sensation of another mind trying to net him is enough to scare Hux back into the alternative realm. Unfortunately, the damage is already done. He opens his eyes to find himself trapped in a whole other kind of darkness, one deceptively natural.

Night has fallen, the once-blue sky now obscured by clouds. A small cluster of stars peeks briefly through a crack in the veil before their meager light is snuffed out like all the rest.

This bizarre world doesn’t have either a moon or neighboring planet in close enough proximity to reflect the sunlight, and so Hux remembers that the evenings here were always pitch-black on completely overcast days, such as now. The change in scenery, therefore, almost entirely blinds Hux and broadcasts Ren’s rather deliberate message that he knows Hux’s whereabouts well enough to find him in the dark.

Hux can feel his panic overwhelming him again. He can hear the waves from the lake lapping gently at the shore behind him and the soft rustle of leaves in front of him. Slowly, in the insufficient glow of nightfall, he begins to distinguish shapes in the darkness—including the figure moving briskly toward him.

Frightened, Hux takes a step back, trips over a dip in the sand, and tumbles to the ground. He smacks his right hand against something hard in the fall, so he curls his fingers around it and lobs what feels like a rock in Ren’s general direction.

Predictably, Ren senses the attack. In fact, he could probably feel it happening the moment the rock’s potential as a weapon registers in Hux’s brain. True to form, Ren ignites his saber and dashes the projectile into stardust with one well-aimed and seemingly effortless swing. The sudden wash of red light across his face reveals that he’s anything but amused with Hux’s pathetic defense tactics.

Hux scrambles to his feet, stepping back again. Water laps at the calves of his boots. He’s trapped between Ren and the lake, no room for maneuvering around the other man’s hulking form on the wide, open beach. He glances down at the burning edge of Ren’s unstable weapon, eyes drawn to the curious crackle of energy that seems an almost intentional mimicry of Ren’s volatile mind, and knows that this is the end of the line for him.

Ren, well aware that he has Hux pinned, slows in his approach, though he keeps his weapon out, down at his side, an open threat. “Did you know that after abandoning you to your fate, Luke had the gall to take on another apprentice?” he says. “The girl from Jakku. He introduced her to the very basics of the Force and then deserted her when she started asking too many questions.”

“Is this the same woman who killed Snoke and left you for dead?” Hux asks, halting in his retreat. He’s afraid, but he’s tired, too. “Whatever little he taught her, it seems to me he was at least able to prepare her for her ordeal against you.”

“She wasn’t prepared,” Ren replies, coming to a stop himself, only a few feet left between them. Hux can feel the heat of Ren’s blade from where he’s standing. “And she didn’t kill Snoke.”

Hux’s brow furrows in confusion. Maintaining eye contact with Ren, staring into those deep, dark pools, Hux slowly comes to understand what he means. “…You killed him.”

“You’re welcome.”

That seemingly innocent remark sends a chill down Hux’s spine. It’s sounds like yet another reason why Ren believes he deserves Hux’s respect, that he’s done Hux a great favor despite all the other atrocities he’s committed before, one that should pardon him completely. It also reinforces something Hux had always quietly speculated, that Ren is stronger than even his grandfather, enough so that he could truly bend the whole universe to his will.

“She came all this way to cut him down,” Ren continues, voice low and even, apathetic. “I let her think she could; she distracted him as I dealt the killing blow.”

Admittedly, it sounded like a clever ploy. Not only was Ren able to remove Snoke from the equation, but he was also able to lay the blame at someone else’s feet, namely a known enemy of the First Order. He paved himself a smooth path to taking over the whole operation.

“You…” Hux says faintly, unable to resist sparring Ren’s saber a second glance. He feels dizzy, ill. “You’ve cut down every man who sought to give you guidance, whether good or bad. And now, you want to strike down your mother as well. I…honestly don’t know what to make of your parricidal urges.”

“No one stands above me,” Ren replies, the solemn truth. His nonchalance about the whole matter is so deeply unsettling. “No one is my equal either—you were right about that. I can’t change the universe by halving my power.”

“Change it into what? This game of galactic conquest was never your campaign to begin with, so where does it end for you?”

“Why don’t you help me find out?” Hux’s eyes dart to Ren’s hand—the one without the lightsaber, now outstretched, imploring Hux to step forward and take it. “Stand behind me, and I will lend you my ear. You could influence that change, soften it whatever way you deem necessary. But if you refuse me, I will cut out every part of you that makes you human and release whatever monster remains on the universe.”

Hux feels a sliver of something cold worming its way down his throat and into his gut. The threat of non-existence is still very much a real thing for him, despite what Luke thought. He doesn’t know if Ren has successfully purged a person from their own mind before, but now that Ren answers to no one, the new Supreme Leader has all the time in the galaxy to perfect his technique.

Hux doesn’t want Ren to wipe his consciousness blank. He doesn’t want to lose his memories of Luke or Leia or the peaceful forest of his mind. Nor does he feel particularly good about unleashing Ren, unfettered, on the universe. Even if Hux’s influence over the other man’s decisions is limited, he could still save lives. Not many, he imagined, but would prolonging even just one life be enough to compel him to continue living with Ren, _existing_ with him, pacifying him…?

It’s a stupid thought, and Hux realizes that almost immediately. Ren _cannot_ be controlled _._ He’s demonstrated that time and time again. Simply put, there’s no amount of sweet words or sound logic that Hux can throw at him to get Ren to do anything other than what he truly wants.

Sensing Hux’s internal withdrawal, Ren takes another step forward “ _Tell_ _me_ what you what,” he snaps, almost desperately, brow furrowed in anger and disbelief.

Hux flinches minutely, reflexively taking half of a step back in response. Pushing back the peculiar notion that Ren’s had a similar verbal exchange with someone else not too long ago, he allows himself to think about it for a second, what he really wants, almost as final farewell to his dreams. All he ever wanted was a family and a quiet life, but that would never be a reality for him. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be a reality for anyone once Ren was through with this war.

“You couldn’t ever possibly give me what I want,” Hux finally replies, voice remarkably level for how deeply unsettled he feels. It helps that it’s the truth. There’s an inherent sense of strength in honesty.

Ren curls his hand into a fist and slowly lowers it to his side. He clenches his jaw, face thrown into stark relief by the wicked blaze of his weapon. Hux can still feel the heat of it and wonders what it will feel like cutting into him on the metaphysical plane.

He’s mentally bracing himself for the first blow when Ren suddenly says, “She’s waiting for you.”

The last few days have just been one long, confusing blur, so Hux doesn’t try to pretend he understands what Ren is talking about. “Who?”

“My mother,” Ren elaborates, looking as though he’s beginning to rein his temper in again. “She’s waiting for you, and we’re closing in. As it stands now, I don’t know if I’d much rather keep you intact long enough to watch me reunite her with my father or toss her in a cell somewhere until I can safely put a blaster in your hand and command you to kill her yourself.”

Another cold wave passes through Hux, but this time his grasp on his reality also takes a minor, though peculiar, shift. The water lapping at his calves suddenly recedes into the lake, leaving them both standing on wet sand. Hux’s focus, once again, narrows to the weapon in Ren’s hand. He can’t even _fathom_ what it would take to strike down one’s own mother with such a cruel device, though he knows Ren’s already practiced his technique on his own father.

Faintly, Hux can hear himself say, “No.”

“You know well enough by now that you shouldn’t have made an enemy of me.”

“No,” he breathes again, feeling a cool breeze against the back of his neck, a whisper of something sinister as it rapidly gains momentum. “Get out.”

For the first time since invading his mind today, Ren peels his eyes away from Hux’s face and gazes into the darkness of the lake beyond him.

Hux is about to repeat his command, feeling something terrible bubbling up inside him, when a strong gust of air whips up behind him, preceded immediately by a veritable wall of water. Hux doesn’t know the exact magnitude of the wave, but it clears his head, knocking him forward and over himself, sucking him into a different kind of darkness as it washes them both away.

He’s sent spiralling inside his mind, confused and dazed, until he hits something hard. That something turns out to be a stone floor, which joins the long list of surprises he’s had to endure for the last long while, followed closely by the fact that he is no longer wet—with, of course, the exception of the water he immediately coughs up, but that could just as easily be his last meal, whatever that might be.

“Do _not_ vomit on me,” mutters a familiar voice. He barely has a chance to register it before Lt. Connix slips her hands under his left arm and tries to pull him upright from his prone position on the ground.

Hux briefly wipes his mouth off on the back of his other arm before a second set of hands curls around it, trying to help Connix hoist him upright. This set belongs to Dameron, who looks far too cheery for someone currently on the run.

Still battered down from both the fog of his rapid transition and the screaming pain inside his head, Hux stumbles between them as they half lead, half drag him through the dark maze of tunnels to their final destination. When Hux sees the blinding light at the end of it, he squeezes his eyes shut, trusting them entirely to guide him to safety as he focuses on willing his head not to explode from the sudden sensory overload.

It isn’t until he’s staggering up a ramp that he cracks them open again. Through the pain, he can see Leia’s face, tight with worry. She curls an arm around his shoulders as Dameron and Connix finally hand him off to her, and she directs him toward a seat in the corner of her ship. She settles down beside him just as the hull begins to shudder for take off.

“Is this real?” he asks, voice still faint in his ears. He’s shaking, but he’s not cold. He must be shock.

Connix’s face suddenly fills his vision as the younger woman kneels down to inspect him. “Are you concussed?” she asks.

“No,” he says, because he knows the pain is from something else entirely.

“Then you’re free to pass out for a while, if you need to,” she offers.

“Thank you,” he says.

And then, with no effort whatsoever, he does just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : I was a bit exhausted during the editing process, so it's entirely possible I missed a few mistakes. Let me know if you see anything glaring.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Is part one over already? I can hardly believe it...
> 
> Before you get into the epilogue, I just wanted to sincerely thank everyone who stuck with this story throughout all its cruel twists and turns. You support has been so unexpected and wonderful. Words fail to describe how happy I am to have been able to entertain you with this bizarre concept of a story.

_“What happened was simple, even banal: I became naked, died, lost parts of my flesh and most of my ego…and went on from there.”_

― MacDonald Harris

~***~

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, just that it’s long enough to put a kink in his neck.

He wakes to find himself tucked into the corner of a table booth, head hanging forward, chin resting against his chest; hence the kink, that screaming pain along his spine as he slowly turns his face upward. He rubs at the tender muscles over his left shoulder as he gazes across the room at the handful of Resistance members remaining, mind jumping back to the final hour before his freedom. Assuming he didn’t imagine the massacre leading up to his liberation, the number of men and women currently milling about this rust-bucket of ship probably classifies more as a club than an actual army.

Hux sighs, heart heavy for their loss. What’s worse, he doesn’t know how to help them now. Gone are the days he could subtly aid the Resistance by pulling the strings behind the scenes. He’s outlived his usefulness.

“I’m glad you’re awake.”

Hux inclines his head to one side carefully and watches as Leia Organa slips into the booth next to him, moving somewhat stiffly herself, like she’s long overdue for a rest. Hux imagines she hasn’t slept since she was comatose on the _Raddus_.  

“I feel as though I could sleep for another year,” he mumbles, now rubbing blearily at his right eye. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept this hard. “How long was I out for?”

“Roughly eight hours.”

 _Good grief_. Far too long, by his standards…

“If you’re feeling up for it,” she continues, her tone of voice cautious, “I wanted to ask you what happened.”

Hux drops his hand into his lap and gingerly leans his head back against the hardened booth cushions, neck and shoulders still sore. The last time they spoke was just before Holdo took the _Supremacy_ out of commission. Since then, so much has happened…he feels as though his whole world was built up and broken down again before finally approaching this uneasy plateau.

“The Vice Admiral ejected my escape pod before charging into the _Supremacy_ ,” he begins. “Unfortunately, the _Equalizer_ picked me up; Ren was waiting for me there.” He pauses a moment to mull over what followed, haunted now by his waking self’s horrific rise to power and Ren’s final ultimatum. It feels almost surreal thinking back on how close Ren came to imprisoning him indefinitely. “In short, he…asked me to stand by him. When I refused, he put me under again, promising to afford my other self every advantage in destroying the universe.”

“Then how are you still you?” Leia asks, head cocked curiously to one side. “Was it because of Luke?”

“Of course,” he replies softly, remember their final encounter. Bittersweet as it was, Hux considers himself fortunate for having had the opportunity to say goodbye. “When he was distracting Ren, he covertly dragged me back into the dreamscape. There he put me back to rights and destroyed my other trigger. This is me now, always and forever.”

There’s a wiry crook at the corner of Leia’s lips now and a familiar warmth in her eyes. “I knew he wasn’t going to leave you. That’s why we waited. I had a feeling he would bring you back to us.”

“I’m truly grateful you waited; I know it was quite the gamble. In fact, I very nearly didn’t make it. Ren eventually figured out what Luke had done and came for me a second time, through the dreamscape.”

Leia’s smile crumples into something a little more concerned. “And?”

“And…” Hux pauses for a moment, still baffled over the whole awful ordeal. “…I think I drowned him…or perhaps I simply banished him from my mind. Or both? I’m not sure. I felt him leaving me, and that’s all I really remember.”

“He’s not dead,” Leia clarifies, glancing briefly down and away. “If he was, I would’ve felt it.”

Hux doesn’t know if she considers her son’s continued wellbeing a good thing or a bad thing, so he refrains from pursuing that line of inquiry. Instead, he turns the conversation in a slightly different direction and says, “What about Luke? Is he really dead, too?”

Leia looks up at him again. “I suppose that all depends on your definition of dead. He’s _gone_ , in a sense, but not entirely.”

It’s not the simplest explanation, but it does Hux a small measure of good to hear it. At the very least, it eases some of the pain of losing Luke in the first place. If he’s still out there, somehow, then Luke’s suffering wasn’t for nothing. “Is he a part of it now—the Force?”

There’s another twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Very much so.”

Hux smiles a little, too.

Luke deserves an eternity of peace.

Elated as he is, he still says, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Organa shakes her head wearily at his condolences, smile slowly fading. She stares down at her weathered hands, folded neatly together over the rusted tabletop, and gently thumbs at her brown and black beaded bracelet. “He’s not really the one I lost today.”

Again, Hux finds himself caught up in another sensitive topic of conversation, one he isn’t certain he should pursue. He knows she has her own thoughts and feelings about Ren, and that those thoughts and feelings may or may not have changed after today’s events.

Eventually, he says, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Someday,” she sighs, gaze lingering on her beaded bracelet. Soon enough, though, she returns her attention to Hux. “I will deal with Ren when the time comes. For now, we need to regroup.”

“With whom?” he asks, curious. Nobody came to her aid on Crait. Who was left to help them?

“Many of our allies were occupied during the battle,” she explains. “We’re en route to meet with them now in the Talos system. I think you’ll like it there. In fact, I think you should consider lying low on Talos Prime for a while.”

Hux knew about the Talos system. It was made up of three, large, colonized planets that were inhabited by quite liberal minded individuals. Democracy had prevailed there for millennia, and Talos’ militia, small though it might be, often policed and partook of peace keeping missions in neighboring systems. In fact, they were really the only thing preventing a complete takeover by the more nascent crime syndicates in their small corner of the galaxy.

“For how long?” he asks. Hux wouldn’t mind taking a breather in such an agreeable place, but he doesn’t want to sit idle when they could instead be making use of him. “I want to help.”

“And you will,” she assures him. “Within the Talos government is a lower chamber of advisors nominated into their positions by members of the upper chamber. These advisors are usually people with a great deal of knowledge pertaining to nearby crime syndicates or other potential threats. I have a few friends in Talos’ Senate who already know of your involvement with the First Order and would like to speak with you. The paperwork will take a while, but I think it’s more likely than not that they will want you to fill one of these positions in the lower chamber.”

Though he’s technically lived and breathed petty politics all his life in the military, Hux doesn’t know how well he’ll shape up when it comes to the real deal. What’s more, he doesn’t know if it’s _safe_. “Would situating myself in a public office be wise?” he asks. “The First Order just lost track of a rogue ‘Grand Marshal’. They’re going to be keeping an eye out for me.”

Leia’s small smile suggests this won’t be much of a problem. “The lower chamber is the one place an individual can hold a position in government under an assumed name. With my recommendation, they would put you on record as a refugee. No other details would be necessary.”

Hux nods, satisfied. “I would be able to share my knowledge of the First Order with them in secret?”

“Precisely,” she says. “Of course, there are additional duties attached to the position, but, for the most part, the members of the upper chamber would have the exclusive privilege of knowing you were their de facto consultant on all things pertaining to the First Order. I believe this is the one place we could situate you to do the most damage to the FO in the coming years. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” She reaches over to grab him by the arm, just above the elbow, and gives him a comforting squeeze. “It might take me a few days, but we’ll have an audience with my friends soon enough.”

Hopefully sooner rather than later, Hux thinks. He might have a wealth of information on the FO, but Ren _knows_ Hux knows the ins and outs of everything concerning their organization. Ren—if he was smart—would therefore likely take measures to shake up the game a little. Of course, knowing how the FO operates on a daily basis, Hux can easily predict how they would react in any given situation. However, the finer details, such as the location of valuable resources or the names of prominent public figures covertly working for the FO, have a finite shelf life before Ren or some other higher-up in the organization makes an effort to relocate First Order supplies or start offing their ‘allies’.

“I look forward to it,” he replies, eager to get to work.

She gives him another squeeze, some of the tension at the corners of her eyes melting away, before she slides back out of the booth and quietly excuses herself into the adjacent room.

Hux, bizarrely enough, is in the process of debating another few minutes of shut eye when Organa’s empty seat is immediately taken by another woman. The newcomer is wrapped up in a heavily layered, worn, grey tunic that’s covered with grim, a get-up that somehow suits the dark bruise blossoming above her left eye. She looks like the sort of person that isn’t afraid to get down to business.

It takes Hux a second, but he eventually realizes he’s seen her somewhere before.

“Oh,” he exhales gently, not bothering to hide his surprise. “I know you.”

“You do?” she asks, confused.

“Yes, I…” He pauses for a moment, unsure whether she would enjoy a reminder of her time aboard the _Finalizer_. “I apologize, we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m Armitage Hux. I know you’re from Jakku, but I don’t think I ever learned your name.”

“Rey,” she replies, relaxing into her seat. Despite the obvious scuffle she recently engaged in, her eyes are bright and alert. “Did you spot me on your ship, General?”

“‘Armitage’ is fine, thank you; I’m not a General anymore,” he clarifies quietly. He never wants to hold another military rank so long as he lives. “And in a sense, I did. I watched a recording of Ren’s interrogation session with you aboard the _Finalizer_. You rattled him in a rather remarkable way.”

“Acually…I wanted to ask you about him, seeing that, of all of us, you’ve known him as ‘Kylo Ren’ the longest. Is that right?”

It is, though Hux doesn’t know if he ever truly _‘knew’_ Ren. After years of watching his co-commander unabashedly exercise his anger on humanity, Hux was still stupidly lulled into a false sense of security by him. Even _if_ only ensnared for a while, Hux will never overcome that shame. Ren was a dissimulator unlike any he had known before—and Hux knew quite a few, considering the cutthroat community he’d been indoctrinated into as a child.

“It is,” he says, “but he was even able to fool me for a time. So, please, don’t assume my knowledge of him is absolute.”

“I know how that feels,” she murmurs, staring down at her lap as she folds her hands smoothly together. Oddly enough, she reminds him a little of Organa in that respect.

Given what Ren’s already told him, Hux supposes she knows, firsthand, how easily the Master of the Knights of Ren can pull the wool over one’s eyes. But Hux doesn’t want her to feel weak—she’s _not_ weak. Far from it, in fact, and it’s important that she knows it.

“As I was saying,” he continues, “you rattled him during the interrogation. You also gave him a thorough beating in your last encounter, if the reports are true.”

“He gave as good as he got,” she murmurs. “In fact, he killed his master while he was at it. I’m only alive right now because he decided Snoke was the bigger threat in the room.”

“No, he couldn’t have defeated Snoke on his own. Without you, _he_ likely wouldn’t be alive right now.”

She finally peels her eyes away from her lap, looking up at him, processing that simple truth.

This is a natural segue into one of greatest pieces of advise Hux could possibly give her right now, so he just goes for it. “It’s important that you know he doesn’t operate very well on his own,” he says. “Part of that stems from his insecurities. You touched upon that sensitive topic with him during the interrogation—you told him he was afraid he would never be as great as Darth Vader. In truth, he’s more powerful than his grandfather ever was, but his fear of being weak is what’s really holding him back.”

Rey nods, watching him intently.

He wonders if she realizes the position of power she held during that interrogation period, even though she was the one strapped down to a chair.

“The other part,” he continues, “has more to do with the nature of the Dark, I believe. Ren once described the difference between its servants and those of the Light as the necessity of having a ‘participant’, a recipient of their passions, whether those passions be anger or adoration. I don’t believe he was lying when he said that; he was too adamant in trying to keep me close at hand and under his control. When you encounter him next, don’t allow him to anger or frighten you. Don’t let him _feed_ off you. If he can’t engage you emotionally, he can’t throw his own emotions into the mix.”

She nods again, brow furrowing. He has a feeling she already suspects this is the way to go about preparing for her next face off against Ren. He’s merely confirming her suspicions.

“He has that air about him,” she replies, contemplating his advice. “Like he doesn’t want to proceed alone. I thought that was just a ploy, but now…”

“I think, genuinely, he doesn’t want to be alone either. By his own account, he’s been ‘alone’ all his life, and he’s tired of it.”

“Ironically, I can sympathize with him on that.”

“Don’t,” he warns her, quietly. “I don’t know what your story is, but if you’ve been as lonely as he is and still managed _not_ to turn to the darkness, it only underscores how completely overboard he’s gone with his reaction to his own solitude.”

She blinks at him, mildly surprised. “But what if it’s because of his loneliness that he turned to the Dark Side?”

“We don’t know that for certain,” he replies. “It could be that or something else. Or it could be a combination of many different things. The fact of the matter is, whether or not it’s an explanation for the path he’s chosen, it’s not an excuse. Ben has both the power and wisdom to make himself a better man. Don’t allow yourself to fall into his trap by assuming he just needs a little help digging his way out of the disaster he’s created for himself.”

Rey quirks an eyebrow at him, but she doesn’t otherwise appear disappointed with his hardline approach to dealing with Ren. If anything, her silence suggests there’s a part of her that agrees with him, even if she’s hesitant to say as much.

“Is that all?” she inquires, just as softly, genuinely asking.

Hux huffs out a small laugh, because he could probably write book of all the red flags associated Ren. But in the interest of time, he realizes there’s really one other thing she absolutely needs know. The mere thought of it sobers him up again almost immediately.

Rey frowns in concern at his sudden sombre reaction. “What? You look worried.”

“I _am_ worried... You see, when Ren joined Snoke, he didn’t come alone. He brought six of Luke’s former students with him. The seven of them together make up the Knights of Ren.”

“…How strong are they?” she asks, cottoning on quickly to the severity of the situation.

“I’ve never really seen them demonstrate the full extent of their powers before, but I know none are as powerful as Ren. Even so, each is be a force to reckon with. What’s more, I know Ren always wanted them to help him create his own school, but Snoke forbade him from doing any such thing before he completed his training. Now that Snoke’s out of the picture, I imagine he’ll be on the hunt for students. Their ranks will only grow.”

“Perfect,” she mutters, rubbing the side of her face. “Bloody _wonderful_ …Do you think Ren will call them to arms now?”

Hux shrugs, uncertain. Ren was always very secretive of his acolytes, and Hux’s waking self wouldn’t tolerate having more than one Knight on the _Finalizer_ at a time, which was one of the few rules Ren bothered to respect. As such, Hux doesn’t know much about them. “I know he communicates with them regularly. He can probably mobilize them whenever he wants.”

Rey’s gaze drops to the table, pensive.

Hux gives her a moment before he cautiously asks, “Are you alone? Do know of any other Force users?”

“Beyond Luke and General Organa? No.” She rubs irritably at her face again, brows knitted tightly together. Eventually, she looks up at Hux and says, “I need to think about this…If I need to speak with you again, where can I find you?”

“Talos Prime, if everything goes according to plan. Whatever happens, I imagine you can always reach me through the General.”

“Good.” She shuffles toward the end of the booth suddenly, seemingly energized by their conversation, even with the air of impending doom hanging over her head. Once she’s risen to her feet, she turns back to him and says, “Take care, Armitage.”

“You as well.”

She offers him a small, if somewhat weary, smile and retreats into the hall, leaving him to his own worrisome thoughts.

Tired, Hux leans his head back against the stiff cushions of his seat and closes his eyes, unwilling to waste any more of his time or energy thinking about Ren. He dozes lightly for a while, only allowing himself to be roused from his daze when Dameron and a man Hux recognizes as FN-2187 join him for a while at the booth. They both look as equally knackered as he feels, not entirely up for conversation, although Dameron makes a point of apologizing to Hux for turning on him the way he did back on the _Raddus_. It’s water under the bridge, so far as Hux is concerned, and so he waves off Dameron’s worries without a second thought.

However, it’s then Hux’s turn to apologize—to the man Dameron introduces as ‘ _Finn_ ’, because Hux knows that this poor fellow was separated from his family and raised in captivity like some lower lifeform thanks to the program Hux and his father implemented ages ago in the First Order.

“It wasn’t really your fault though, was it?” Finn says in response, glancing up at Hux’s forehead, clearly wondering if Hux’s other half is still lurking around somewhere inside there.

“Even so, you have my sincerest apology.”

Finn shakes his head, as if he doesn’t really need it. “Just tell me that psycho is gone for good, and I’ll be happy.”

“Ren can’t bring him back anymore. Luke made sure of it.”

“Okay…I trust you.” Finn chuckles, relaxing into his seat. “I mean, Rey trusts you, and that’s as close to a golden stamp of approval as you can get in my book.”

“I’m jealous,” Dameron chimes in.

“You’re a close second,” Finn assures him.

They converse quietly amongst themselves for a while longer, though Hux, who doesn’t know much of life outside the walls of the First Order, contributes little to the conversation. Which really doesn’t matter, because they all fall silent in the next few minutes anyway, lulled back into a daze as they await the end of today’s journey.

In another hour or so, they finally make it. The ships shudders to a halt as it docks somewhere on Talos Prime, stirring the crew into action. However, Hux remains seated as everyone else pushes their way to the door, knowing that they probably have more pressing matters to attend to while he’s still merely waiting for instruction. Admittedly, it feels odd not having orders for once in his life, but he can hardly complain.

When Hux finally rises from his seat, he turns toward the hall and realizes he’s not alone. Lt. Connix is standing in the threshold, staring at him, smiling. “I’ve been told you’re going to be permanently stationed here on Talos Prime.”

“Yes…This is apparently where I will be of the most use to anyone.”

Connix takes a step back to let him pass, then pulls up alongside him as they slowly make their way down the hall. “We’re probably going to lie low here ourselves for the next little while. My family lived on Talos Prime for a few years before returning to Dulathia—I could show you around, if you’d like? It’s a lot to take in for first time visitors…”

It sounds like such a simple kindness on her part, but, really, it’s one of the nicest things anyone his age has ever offered to do for him.

Hux can feel himself smiling in return. Some of the tension also finally begins to melt from his shoulders.

Quietly, he says, “I would love that.”

~***~

{To be continued}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hux finally gets his happy ending. For a while, anyway.
> 
> I have a small one-shot interlude coming up next, followed by a much longer, proper story, which is the continuation of the eternal conundrum that is the relationship between Hux and Ren. I hope you enjoy what I have in store for everyone. ;)
> 
> Thank you again for everything!


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